It’s June 15th.

The doors are unlocked.

Summer school has almost started.

She walks through the empty halls,

By locked classrooms,

And empty lockers.

She counts the number of rooms to her right,

And rooms to her left,

As flashbacks come rolling through.

She stands in front of a classroom,

412.

She steps in.

Boom. 

Gunshots roll through her memories, 

Clashing their way through,

To the front of her brain.

She stands in an empty classroom,

That was once a place of learning.

A place of life,

And happiness.

But all it is now,

Is a reminder of the pain and the lives that were lost.

She looks away from the bullet holes in the windows,

The desks,

And the toy boxes.

And she imagines butterflies,

Taking their place,

And carrying the bad memories away.