“Attention everyone, we are going into lockdown.” 

No. There can not be lockdown when I am alone in the last stall of the girls’ bathroom. Panic floods me. I can't breathe but at the same time my exhales roar. In seconds I stand up on the toilet seat and hold my knees, quietly sobbing into them. I become light headed, watching the stall spin around me. No, no it’s ok, it's probably a drill. If it wasn’t a drill the announcement would have said so… Right? Suddenly, I hear a sharp bang. That was a gun. Oh my god, that was a gun.

…

Anger and hate take over me as I walk into the school, despite a small voice in my head advising me not to. It’s not fair, people need to feel the pain I feel. I feel it in every bone in my body as it turns into sadness then hatred. I am silenced, I need to be heard by someone, everyone. There’s no other way anyone would listen. While stomping up the stairs, my knees shake. The first classrooms lock breaks easily. My eyes are drawn to the scared kids and teacher, huddled in a corner of the room. The expression in my eyes changes as my pity turns to ice. I think of when I was their age. The kids just like them picking on me, calling me names. Like I wasn’t one of them, like I was different. I don’t want to feel different. My finger starts to move to the trigger before my brain can catch up. An ear splitting noise explodes, from my gun. 

…

It feels like I’ve been here forever, wondering when I’m next, if I’m next. I hold my breath trying my best to be silent but it only makes it worse when I exhale. My whole body shakes so much, I think I’m going to fall off the narrow toilet I am perched upon, or knock over my water bottle making a bang. Is there anyone in the boys bathroom? Does anyone feels as alone as I do right now?  It’s like I’m the only one in the school and I’m waiting for the shooter to find me.

No, that's not true. Everyone here is dealing with this. I am not alone. When I start to let myself feel alone, is when they win. They want me to feel like this, scared. So I won’t give them the satisfaction. I take a deep breath and feel a little better when my inhale comes to a sharp stop. My family. What if this morning is the last time I will ever see them. My mom and I were in a fight this morning. The last words I spoke to her were “I hate you.” My whole body wells up with guilt, why, why did I say that. I don’t hate her, that is the last thing I feel towards her and I may never get to tell her that. She must be so sad right now. I wonder what she's doing at this moment, what my whole family is doing. Do they know I am in the last stall of the girls bathroom waiting to be shot? I don’t want them to know. I want them to think I’m happy and learning and will be home to apologize to my mom and she will make me a special dinner and watch a TV show with me before bed. Maybe I will.

I need to eat dinner with my family again. And I will. No one is going to save me from this stall but myself. A surge of adrenaline, with undertones of panic runs through me like an unsteady bounce. I look around- window! The window! I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that. I quietly set my foot on the floor and approached the window, which is to my eye level. I look for a handle but there is none. There is no other way to open that window other than breaking the glass and jumping two stories. My hand forms a fist ready to aim when I hear footsteps. 

...

This feeling of power. It’s like I’m normal, not only normal but in charge. People are hearing me, begging me. People are in pain and are scared of me. I like it. Where next? “Bathrooms” reads two doors next to one another. The one closest is the girls bathroom. I open the door slowly letting it creak so if anyone is in there, they know I’m here. I look at the floor, no feet. I’m not convinced. Somewhere there is a soft breath. I go to the last stall when I start to hear movement. I unlock my gun. I see a blur of a person's silhouette in the corner of my eye. My head wips in the direction, hitting something hard, metal. My head throbs as I lie on the cool tiled ground. 

My eyes open to spots of light clouding my vision. I can make out a small girl with brown hair pointing my gun at me with a shaky little hand and tears in her eyes.

…

He’s lying on the ground helpless. I made him helpless. Earlier, when I heard him coming, I knew he would head for the last stall if my breathing was loud enough for him to hear. Then, as he was speed walking to the last stall, eyes focused on the door, I snuck under the rest of the stalls. I got out behind him and hit him as hard as I could on the head, with my metal water bottle. He lay unconscious on the floor when I grabbed his gun.

I don’t want to kill him. I know that. I also don’t want to hurt him. I know how many people he has hurt, I know he wants them to hurt. Yet I don’t want him to feel that pain... I don’t know why. Although, I know it's him or me. If I don’t shoot him, he will shoot me and many others. People I know, innocent people, my friends. I see the fear in his eyes. This makes me cry. I never want someone to look at me with that fear. Ever. What is this feeling? I don’t like it. I take a deep breath. What I’m doing is to protect others and myself. I aim for his arm.

…

The pain glues me to the ground. My arm feels hot like a flame was thrown at it, threw it. I have never experienced pain like this. I made many feel like this. It still doesn’t compare to what I feel. I don’t feel better. No one knows what I’m feeling inside. They only know the pain of a bullet, not the pain of feeling alone. The girl is screaming for help. She wants to save me. I don’t know why. Why didn’t she kill me? She could have. I would have.

…

My voice is so hoarse I feel like it is slowly fading. The “helps” in my head are booming while my screams are no more than a broken whisper, after shouting for so long. Finally, I hear footsteps, the door quickly opens to a tall policeman. I am sitting on the ground trying to make sure this man doesn’t bleed out, as he remains lying helplessly. The gun is on the floor, out of his reach.

The police come in and put him in handcuffs and a bandage on his arm. The gun is taken too. I am instructed to go outside where my mom is waiting. I hug her so hard I think her bones will break. I look down and I am covered in blood. The blood of a criminal. I am asked to make speeches at events, to be awarded, called a hero. I don’t feel like a hero. I feel lucky.