By the time this story is over, you won’t remember it. I know, this is a very unorthodox way to begin an introduction, but a forewarning is only fair. The final flip of a page, will be nothing but a fading breeze. The concluding words and last punctuation mark - remnants of ghosts that don’t take the time to linger in your thoughts. This is just one story, one story out of billions of others. There is nothing remarkably special about it. Its importance is only temporary, it’s existence quickly fading from your mind once you put the binding down. Meaningless, in the end. You won’t remember it.
I, am nothing but a shadow in this story. With long, dusty coal hair and muted green eyes, I am perfectly camouflaged amongst the other characters. Unless you take the time to closely examine the setting, you’d never notice my pale skin, or the fact that scars cover my sides. My background really isn’t important, though. No one wants to hear one more story about a teenage girl’s crushed childhood, or how she came to the realization that life isn’t what it's made out to be.
No, my story begins in the most average of settings -- a highschool classroom. The desks are positioned in rows of six, pointed directly at the teacher. She preaches about arithmetic and trigonometry, as if our lives depend on it. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll be bound to a chair by a crazy-eyed mugger, who vows to never let me go until I can solve for the cosine and tangent of angle X. Then, maybe I’ll have wished I’d paid attention to my over enthusiastic teacher’s lessons about angle bisectors. But today, I’m content with keeping my eyes fixated on the window directly to the left of me, watching the autumn leaves fall.
Now would be the part in the story where I tell you about my friends. However, I regret to inform you that it seems those pages have been torn out. I once convinced myself that I must have the secret power to become invisible. It was the only explanation at the time, for how I could appear so transparent amongst my peers.
Eventually, I became used to the feeling of utter unimportance that came from the vines of isolation creeping their way up from the pit of my stomach, and constricting my being until it could no longer breathe. The thorns that pierced my heart were the only things I could count on to be there for me. Just because I was alone, doesn’t mean I was lonely.
The red leaves outside of the classroom window kept me company most days. This day was no different. I watched as they danced to songs that played only in my mind. I never had to worry about my symphony being interrupted by my teacher, I doubt she even knew my name.
It’s Nadie, by the way.
Time ticked on, as it tends to do. A short, stout boy sat directly behind me, listening intently to the lecture. Based upon high school social status rankings, he would be classified as a “geek.” Focusing all his energy on the words spoken by the teacher, he didn’t realize that his breath landed directly on my neck, making my toes curl. Or, if he did, he didn’t seem to care. I don’t think he knew my name either.
What’s my social ranking, you may be asking? I think “nobody” is an accurate description.
The wind decided to stop blowing, and my leaf friends halted their dance. Now completely abandoned inside the classroom, my thumbs started to twiddle, and my feet bounced up and down. The room became stuffy and my face grew hot. I needed some air. I quietly walked over to my teacher, and subtly asked for a pass to the washroom. My fingers shook as I took the small piece of paper from her, and made my way to the door. Unfortunately, it seemed that at this time, my invisibility wore off, and I could feel every single set of eyes in the classroom burning into my back. I urged my feet to walk faster, but they had somehow become entangled within heavy metal chains. The chains slithered up my legs and wrapped around my throat. Desperate screams clawed their way through me, and my eyes filled with tears.
As the classroom door closed behind me, I could breathe once again. I glanced back at the students still sitting poised in their desks. Their unphased eyes remained fixated on the teacher’s lesson, completely oblivious to the torture I had just endured.
Gulping in the now unconstrained air, I hurried my feet down the hallway, scolding them for their incompetence inside the classroom. My hand subconsciously went to my hair and brushed it in front of my face, hiding my shame.
As I reached the washroom at the end of the hallway, I breathed a sigh of relief to find that no one else was inside. I stood at the sink and immediately began washing my hands. A twinge of shock rushed through me as I discovered dried blood on my palms and underneath my fingernails. It’s a horrific feeling, knowing that you are the cause of your own self destruction. I scrubbed and scrubbed at my hands, thinking that at this rate, I’m sure I could reach bone.
I don’t know how much time I spent stood at that sink, but I didn’t dare look in the mirror once.
My eyes stayed fixated on my hands as I stepped back out into the hallway. I didn’t even notice the darkness until the emergency lights powered by a backup generator, flickered on. The clocks, too, had ceased their persistent ticking for a few moments. I saw glimpses of sunlight coming through the windows of classrooms, so weather could not have been the culprit of the power outage. Figuring it must have been a simple malfunction due to the school’s historic age, I continued at a steady pace down the hall. And for once, I felt completely calm within the shadows.
It’s amazing how a certain sound, or smell, or taste, that once brought joy, could now bring back memories filled with pain. How, in an instant, a person’s voice will forever be correlated with death. For me, that was the sound of my principal’s raspy, yet kind voice projected over the school’s intercom. He was a good man, famous for his cheesy jokes which students swore they hated, but was actually one of the few things that truly made them smile.
But on that day, his voice would be filled with horror, and act as the stone that shattered my life forever.
“At this time, all students and staff must proceed to a hard lockdown immediately. This is not a drill. An armed intruder has entered the building. I repeat, this is not a–”
Bang.
Sound waves radiate throughout the school, bringing me to my knees. The intercom squeaks as it tries to comprehend the violent blast. My heart is compressed by a mix of shock and fear, but my feet keep their composure. I bolt down the hallway, my mind running just as quick as my body. I didn't have much time. The shot came from the first floor, where the office was. I was on the second. Get to the classroom before they lock the doors.
My breath was heavy, not from the speed I had sprinted down the hallway, but from the noxious fear that had welled inside my stomach. My hand flew to the door handle. ¨Too late,¨ it snarled back at me.
That´s when the panic set in. No, I couldn’t be too late. ¨Open the door! It´s me, Nadie!”  I screamed. My hands tingled from frantically pounding on the door. They had to let me in.
The fear that had welled up inside of me escaped from my lungs when a stranger’s hand brushed against mine. Paranoia made me believe it was the intruder, causing my other hand to lash out in defense. Just as my knuckles touched fabric, the unfamiliar hands took firm hold of mine, keeping them still. I froze, my racing heart slowing its pace as I realized that this boy was not the threat. He was about my height and couldn’t be much older. A purple lanyard containing our school’s name and logo hung loosely from his neck. I found myself quickly entranced by his intense gray eyes and scattered brown freckles as his gaze locked onto mine.
“They’re not going to open the door,” he said in a low, calm tone, not breaking his stare. “We need to find somewhere else to go.”
I nod in understanding. His composure was the only reason my mind could comprehend properly. I glanced over my shoulder, where the bathrooms were. Too far, and directly across from the staircase where the killer would be making his way up the floors. The storage closets would be locked as well.
“The elevator,” I manage to squeak. The boy wastes no time considering the option. Loosening his grip enough to drop one of my hands, we rush over to the rickety old elevator only a few feet down the hall. We both know that this is not a reliable place to keep safe. There is no way to ensure the door’s security, allowing the killer to corner us if he pleases, as if we were wild animals. We can only hope that he chooses to pass by.
The only fortunate event to happen that day, was that the elevator doors were already open when we arrived at it. The boy ushers me to the corner of the elevator that cannot be seen from the hall outside, dropping my hand. He whispers, “Get down,” as he feels for the button that will close the elevator doors. I crouch underneath the rusty hand railings, holding my knees tight. The air smells musty and old from remaining unused for decades. With slight hesitation, the boy presses the button that seals us inside the elevator. The doors creak and groan shut, making my heart race once again. I was sure that the intruder must hear us now, and should be on his way up the stairs, ready to kill.
For a few moments after the grating comes to an end, we both remain still. Silent, listening. Then, I hear it. The word footsteps manages to escape from my mouth before tears began to trap the air in my lungs.The boy darts across the elevator and ducks below the railing next to me. The voice in my mind screams for my body to be quiet, but fear had taken control, and made it impossible to contain my sobs. As the footsteps draw closer, the boy swiftly moves to the other side of me, acting as a barrier from the door. One of his arms clings onto the railing above, while the other shields my face. I bury my head in the sleeves of my sweatshirt, hoping to muffle the sounds. Closing my eyes, I can faintly hear the sound of the boy’s breath. I concentrate on matching my lungs to the calm pace of his, suppressing the vicious commands of panic. Then, we wait.
The beating of the footsteps continued to shake the elevator ever so slightly, each thud reminding me that we were closer and closer to death. I had become so accustomed to the rhythm of each step, that I jumped when it ceased. The killer had found us. It was over. We were dead.
But the pounding that followed did not come from our elevator. It was the sound of an angry fist meeting wood on a classroom door a few feet away. The noise lasted only a few seconds before the footsteps continued their march down the hall. When we could no longer hear their persistent thud, the boy and I softly released the breath we had been holding in.
He turned to me, the same intensity in his eyes. “We can’t stay in here,” he began. “The intruder was already able to cut off the main power, it’s only a matter of time before he reaches the backup generator too.”
I began to protest. “If the power is out completely, then he can’t open the doors and we’ll be safe inside…”
“No,” he cuts me off. “The only thing holding this elevator up right now, are gears powered by electricity. If both generators are turned off, there’s a pretty good chance the gears won’t hold both of our weight. This is an old building, this elevator is old and not a safe place to be in a power outage. We need to get out of here.”
Before I have time to respond, the three dim lights inside of the elevator flicker off. The boy shoots up and rushes over to open the doors, causing the floor to creak beneath our feet. I hear him press buttons repeatedly in desperation. For a few moments, there is silence. The boy’s voice emerges from the darkness, soft, yet suddenly filled with fear. “They won’t open…” He is cut off by the sound of crooked rasping coming from the gears above and below us, as they struggle to hold our weight.
“Stop moving,” he whispers gently. I hadn’t realized by legs had become restless again, taking me to the opposite end of the elevator. I screamed at them in my head for their incomprehension yet again, and forced them to obey my commands.  As slow and carefully as possible, I slid back down into a crouch, begging the floor to stay stable. But, it was not enough.
Each groan by the gears manifested into voices, all directed at me. I did this. This was my fault. I suggested the elevator. I brought us here. I moved. My ignorance would get us killed.
During traumatic events, many victims recall the feeling of time slowing down, or remember their entire lives flashing before their eyes seconds before the incident. Yet, I cannot say that either of these phenomenons happened to me, the moment that elevator fell. The screeching that surrounded us grew more violent by the second. I could hear the boy start to walk towards me as the gears finally lost their grip. All noise faded to a steady, white tone, and my stomach dropped to my feet. The drop to the basement must’ve only lasted a second or two before the crushing impact. I only remember the shock waves radiating up my spine, and the jolt of pain that pierced my wrists as I braced them on the floor. My head filled with hot fog, from hitting either the wall behind me or the floor, I couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both.
All of the air was forced from my lungs. It was the decades old dust that fell from the ceiling that encouraged them to breathe again, but in the form of desperate gasps and coughs that shook my whole body. It felt as if every muscle inside me was crying out from the agonizing aches. I could do nothing more than collapse on my back, and wait for the shock to dissipate.
Soon, the ringing in my ears dwindled, and I became aware of the unsettling silence inside of the elevator. The boy had not spoken since the crash. My mind knew I should go over and see if he was alright, but my body refused to move. Even my voice seemed constricted, too afraid of hearing his response, or, worse, not hearing any response.
The boy saved me yet again from my own confliction by suddenly letting out a weak cough, followed by a muffled groan.  As I opened my mouth to speak, the boy interjected by asking if I was alright. “I’m okay. Fine,” I replied without hesitation, using my elbows to prop myself up against the wall again, shaking away the dizziness in my head. My muscles screamed in anguish for the abuse I had just put them though, and it took every ounce of my strength not to cry out.
“You don’t have to lie, you know.” The boy said suddenly. His words carried almost as much shock as the force of the impact of the elevator itself.
“I landed on my wrist pretty hard, but I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure? You’re lucky you were sitting down during the impact.”
“Yeah,” I said grimly. Somehow, guilt began to bubble inside my stomach. The boy was standing as the elevator fell, trying to keep me safe.
Writing this story now, I would have liked to have been able to provide a better narrative for the previous exchange of dialogue, but I simply cannot find the words. A short conversation lacking a complete explanation is effortless to overlook, but its importance should not be neglected. Sometimes, an experience can only be truly understood when it is felt. No description can convey those emotions to their full extent.
I stayed silent for a few moments afterwards. “Are you okay?” I eventually managed to squeak, my voice hiding within a whisper.
“I’m pretty good, given the circumstances,” he replied.
“You don’t have to lie, you know.”
Despite not being able to see within the darkness, I could sense a smile had crept across the boy’s face. “Well, I can’t actually feel one of my legs,” he said with a small laugh.
A slight smile had snuck onto my face as well, yet I didn’t say anything in response.
“Is that all?” He snickered.
My smile was promptly replaced by worry and hesitation. “I normally don’t get that far with conversations,” I said, voice shaking.
He let out a sigh, which I hoped meant that he understood. “Do you have your phone on you?”
I reached for my back pocket, but my phone had slipped out. I tentatively began sweeping my hands across the floor, until I they brushed up against my phone. Feeling for the power button, there was no way for me to know that the screen had been shattered until a piece of glass worked its way into my finger. I let out a yelp and dropped the phone back onto the floor.
At the same time, I could hear the boy running his hands across the poorly carpeted floor as well. “Here,” he said as his phone illuminated the room. The air was thick and foggy from the dust, and the white light stung my eyes.
“Are you going to call for help?” I asked. I waited close to a minute for a response.
“No way...” he started. “I can’t call anyone. Absolutely no signal.”
My teeth gritted against each other as a mix of anger and disbelief welled inside of me. I could do nothing but shake my head and rest it against the wall, pained at the unfathomable situation that I had found myself in.
The boy sat directly across from me, each leg sprawled out at an unnatural angle to the rest of his body. The same distraught look covered his face, though his eyes were almost completely covered by his shaggy dark blonde hair. It must have appeared dirtier than usual, however, due to the copious amounts of debris that had fallen from the ceiling above.
A realization soon struck me, and while the execution was more awkward than I intended, the question remained valid. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know your name?” My voice was high and soft, still filled with nerves from meeting this stranger.
“Demetrius,” he said. “And there’s no reason for you to apologize.”
He smiled warmly at me, and my eyes quickly darted to the floor. “Mine’s Nadie,” I said.
“I know.” He still sounded full of compassion, yet my heart began to race. “I try to smile at you in the hallway, but your head is always down.”
“Oh. I’m, uh, sorry for trying to punch you earlier,” I stuttered.
Demetrius simply released a small laugh before telling me, “It’s okay.”
I began to pick at the piece of glass imbedded in my pointer finger, but it was wedged in too deep for me to do anything but poke at the pinching pain.
Demetrius notices my struggle. “I can help you with that, if you want.”
I shake my head.
“Well I can’t just sit here and watch you push it in deeper, at least come over by the light.”
Nerves skitter around inside me, but the pain from the glass becomes so intense, I reluctantly scoot over to where he is sitting. I make sure to sit far enough away to where I am not quite touching him.
“You wanna hold this?” He passes me his phone. I point the light directly on my hand. Quick and precise, Demetrius uses each of his hands to press on opposite sides of the wedged in glass, forcing it back up through my skin. I shut my eyes and chew on my bottom lip to numb the pain.
“There we go,” he says as he picks up the small, blood stained shard and tosses it into a vacant corner of the elevator. “Don’t forget that’s there,” he says as he turns to me, the same bright smile on his face. I catch a glimpse of his glistening grey eyes as I instinctively turn away from his kindness, removing my hand from his gentle grasp.
“How are we going to get out of here?” I ask.
Demetrius sighs. “Pretty much all elevators from this time period have an escape route through the roof. Its pretty easy to pop it off and climb out if you’re standing on the hand rails…”
“How do you know this?” I interrupt.
“Dad’s an engineer. I pick things up pretty quickly.”
I wonder why he’s still sitting, and not trying to unlatch the ceiling right away. “Aren’t we going to try and get out then?”
He shakes his head. “There’s absolutely no way we’re getting out of here without whoever’s in the building hearing. I’d say give it an hour at least, for the police to track him down.”
I let out a disappointed sigh, and slide a couple feet from Demetrius, careful not to invade his space.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to move,” he tells me.
“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” I reply softly.
“You weren’t bothering me. I liked the company,” he hesitates before continuing. “I like you, Nadie.”
My whole body tenses at the words he left hang in the room. Words that I have heard before, but carry an entirely different meaning when they are directed towards you. Before my mind could fully comprehend what this boy had just spoken, I immediately shook my head and uttered, “No.”
“Yes,” he said with a giggle.
“No,” I retorted. “I mean, people don’t like me.”
“Well I do.” He reached for my hand, and I was too stunned to pull away. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since, well, as long as I can remember. I’ve just never had a chance to talk to you until now. When I saw you in the hall, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity. You know, the whole ‘prince saves the princess’ deal. Never expected it’d wind up like this though…”
“Wait, you chose to come after me? You could have made it to your classroom?” I suddenly felt very nauseous.
“Well… yeah. I couldn’t just leave you.”
I couldn’t bare to face him. The guilt that had flooded through me soon turned into anger. “Why?” I began to raise my voice. “Why would you ever do that? I don’t deserve to be saved by a ‘prince!’ You shouldn’t be risking your life because of me!”
“Nobody ever deserves to be abandoned in a time in need.”
“That’s just the thing, I am nobody. Nobody loves me, nobody notices I exist. You are lying to yourself if you say that you do! You should have just left me alone, then you wouldn’t even be in this mess!”
"How can you say that?"
"How could you do this?" I finally turned to him, not caring about the tears that had begun to stream down my face. "My life means nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Yours does. You have friends, you can do something great, change the world if you want to. It was so foolish to even consider trying to save me."
"Nadie, stop."
I froze.
"You are not worthless. So don't ever say that. There are people who care about you, more than you could imagine. People who would be devastated to lose you. That... includes me. I don't know how I could go on knowing that I had turned my head and left you out there. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I would have rather ended up with two broken legs any day, than watch you die."
My whole body had become numb. In a matter of mere minutes, this boy had managed to take the life that I had once known, and tear it to pieces. I could do nothing but pull my knees close and rest my head on them. My shivers alerted me to the sudden coldness in the room. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to feel the warm touch of another person. I imagined myself being cradled within Demetrius's arms, but didn't dare move. All of the sobs that had accumulated inside me escaped all at once, shaking my body.
I could hear Demetrius's jeans against the carpet as he slid just slightly closer to me. Seconds later, he reached for my hand. His fingers interlaced with mine and this time, I didn't resist. I found myself unconsciously scooting ever so slightly nearer to him, until I was close enough to rest my head on his shoulder. I could sense the slightest bit of surprise flow through him before he wrapped this other arm around my shoulders, calming my shakes.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He whispers.
"Fine," I said, and this time, it didn't feel like a lie.
Demetrius comforted me until my sobs subsided. We both remained silent for many minutes after that, interrupted only by the sound of his phone vibrating softly.
"Shoot, fifteen percent battery," he said, looking at the screen.
"Do you think we can try and get out now?"
"I don't see what other choice we have," a concerned look blankets his face.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"I don't know if I can get up," he said. "My legs have been mostly numb this whole time."
I move his arm away from my shoulders and start to stand. My heart aches to see the look of utter uselessness that his face carries. "I'll help you, just tell me what I need to do."
He sighs, awaiting the pain that would be soon to follow. "Just help me stand up for now."
I give him my hand, and help pull him to his feet. His face contorts in agony. "Yep, definitely feel the pain now," he says. "You're going to have to open the roof."
I nod.
"If you step on the handrails, you'll be able to reach the latches in each corner of the room. Once those are open, just push the ceiling off. I'll make sure you don't fall."
I walk over to the first corner, and locate the small metal clasp that holds the ceiling down. The handrails are about waist height and far too close to the wall for me to stand comfortably, so I rely on Demetrius, who holds my ackles steady.
The clasp showed it's age in orange rust, firmly holding the trapdoor down. I dug at it with my fingernails until enough rust had chipped away to allow the latch to swing free. I slid down from the handrail, making my feet ache at each landing. Demetrius hobbled to each corner along with me. It was easy to tell that his legs were in severe pain. There was no way he would be able to climb out of this on his own.
I repeated the process of digging the rust from each of the clasps until my hands grew sore. "Now just press up around the corner, and it should pop off," Demetrius guided me. He held my legs firmly as I cautiously removed my hands from the wall. I was forced to push at the ceiling using my knuckles, as my wrists still stung from the initial impact. The ceiling was stiff and let out a straining creek as it peeled away from the wall beneath it. Fortunately, nothing but dust covered the other side, and the ceiling door was fairly easy to push away after it had popped free from the clasps. The small debris rained down on us as I slid the hatch just far enough away for a person to fit through. The part of the ceiling that lifted away was not flush with the wall, leaving a small overhang that would be utilized as a hand grip and place to stand once we could haul ourselves onto it.
"I'm going up," I said to Demetrius.
"Be careful," he replied.
Demetrius boosted me up just enough to where I could brace both my elbows on the dusty ledge above the ceiling. It took a massive amount of strength, strength I didn't know I had, to lift myself up and swing one of my legs up and onto the ledge. It provided just enough room for me to roll onto my side and catch my breath. The dust filled elevator was almost completely dark, but the air provided a cool relief from the congestion inside the elevator itself. The darkness was indicative of yet another issue to overcome, one that required me to shuffle along the overhang, out of Demetrius's sight.
"You okay up there?" He called to me.
"I have to open the door," I said as I felt the familiar touch of metal. A sliver of light shown through a crack in the door, a beacon of hope for both of us. I ran my fingers along the edge, hoping to find any place that would give my hands leverage in prying it open. No such crevice was found.
My heart fluttered with anxiety. We were so close. I had to get this door open.
The crack was too small for me you get a good grip on with my fingers. My cut stung and burn each time I pressed on it. My hands just weren't good enough.
"Demetrius," I called down to him, an idea in mind. "Give me your phone."
He wouldn't have hesitated, except his arm barely reached half way to the hole in the ceiling, and climbing on the railing was not an option with his injured legs.
"Wait," I said, and took off one of my shoes. I unlaced most of it, and used the laces to lower the shoe to him. He placed the phone inside, allowing me to pull it to where I was crouching. The phone was just small enough to squeeze through the crack in the door, allowing me to quickly get my fingers through. I bit down hard on my lip, adrenaline dulling the pain in my hands just long enough to pry the door open.
I gulped in the fresh air from the school, and cautiously stepped outside. We were now on the first floor, where the elevator was tucked into a corner of the hallway that was not easily seen. It would keep us safe while Demetrius escaped from the fallen elevator too.
"We're good," I whispered down to him. Directly adjacent to the elevator was a water fountain. It was so close to the door that I could hook my feet around it, and lean forward into the elevator shaft. "Grab my hands," I called down to Demetrius.
He could barely touch my fingertips. He needed to get leverage from the handrails, but doing so would mean intense pain for his damaged legs. Tears welled in his hopeful eyes as he lifted one knee onto the handrail. This provided me just the right amount of room to grab onto his wrists.
I begged adrenaline to cease the pain. I pointed my toes as much as physically possible to get a good grip on the water fountain. Forcing all of the strength I had left in me to my arms, I pulled as hard as I could until Demetrius was able to get both of his feet on the hand rails for leverage. My muscles screamed from the strain, but there was no going back now.
As soon as his feet touched the white tiles of the school floor, he pulled me in for a warm embrace. "You did it," he said, tears still in his eyes. "You saved us."
For once, I didn't recoil to his touch. For once, I finally felt as if my life had meant something. For once, I felt loved.
As much as I would have never wanted the bliss of that moment to end, we both knew that the school was not a safe place to be. Emerging from the narrow corridor that the elevator resided in, we were relieved to find both ends of the hallway vacant.
I put my arm around Demetrius, helping to ease the pain in his steps as we made our way down the hall.
The next part of the story is something I would have liked to dismiss. I wish nothing more than to end it now, and say that the prince and his princess lived happily ever after. But, unfortunately, not all stories can have that luxury.
Nothing could prepare me for the shock that followed. It was the most intense, powerful sound that I have, and will ever hear. No words can explain the feeling of pure evil dispersing through every fiber in your being.
A gunshot.
The explosion came from behind us. Instincts took over, and I began to run. Demetrius let go, and we ran faster than what we previously thought to be humanely possible. Or, so I thought.
I only glanced back for a fraction of a second, but what I saw was nothing short of horrific. That, is when time began to slow. Demetrius, the boy who saved my life, fell limp to the floor. His beautiful blonde hair stained in red.
I wanted, I wanted so bad to stop. To rescue him like he rescued me. But my feet would not obey.
I bolted out of the school, and collapsed on the ground in front of a wailing police car. I became a crumbled mess, sobs flowing out of me like a hurricane. I screamed until my throat felt raw. My lungs so desperately gasped for air, that the world around me became dark.
Seven people were killed that day; six staff members, including our principal, and one student. His name was Demetrius, and I may as well have been his killer.
I won’t drag out this story’s conclusion, you won’t remember it in the end. Nadie and Demetrius will be nothing more than shadows floating within your collection of names. It won’t matter if you remember this anyway, because I won’t be here to know.