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I want to call out to someone, but who? Who would know my voice? Who would care enough to come to my aid amidst such senseless violence?
All I wanted were friends, a life of my own away from my hometown.
And this is where that dream has gotten me.
5
Vera
Ihaven’t been shot yet, thank God, but getting kicked in the head has completely disarmed me. I’m shaken, paralyzed by fear, and begging the universe to give me one swift bullet to the head if I’m fated to die here.
The idea of being grateful for a gunshot wound feels so morbid and existential compared to the life I’ve lived so far. All I ever wanted was to live simply, finding a passion in life that would take me all over the world.
The world around me is fading in and out, and I’m still incapable of hearing more than the high-pitched whine of ringing in my ears.
Every few seconds, I phase back out of consciousness, engaging in a conversation with my mother or grandfather in my childhood living room.
Even in these hallucinations, I know something is deeply wrong.
Only in my fleeting moments of lucidity am I capable of realizing why.
Losing my mind to a concussion in the midst of a shootout is a visceral terror that I could have never been prepared for. I want to cry out, to grasp onto someone’s pants or foot as they pass me by, but nobody here is a good enough person to risk themselves for me.
I can’t say I blame them.
The only way to figure out what’s going on around me is keeping my eyes open, watching the swarm of people swirl around my head. I can assume safely enough that the shots are still ringing out. It’s not too late for my mercy killing.
After assessing the scene around me once or twice, I feel my vision tunneling. If I allow myself to fall asleep, I might never wake up. Now is the time for me to decide if that sounds like a death sentence or a final act of compassion to myself.
The last thing I see is a pair of blue Converse shoes before they kick a face full of sand into my eyes. Of course, my last chance to see the world as it fades away forever has to be interrupted by something so stupid.
I want to cry, both to flush the sand from my eyes as well as to mourn the horrors of today.
But I’m too far gone now. I’ve decided to let go before the world chooses to teach me another lesson in humility.
I close my eyes for the last time, allowing myself to jump deep into the shifting depth of my fragmented, injured mind.
I’m ready to descend into my final moments, prepared to see my whole life flashing before my eyes when I feel a heavy hand jerk me back into the present mayhem.
I’m not able to rouse myself into a fighting state, but I force my eyes open enough to see the world spin around me as I’m swung over a man’s broad shoulders.
“Don’t move! I’m going to get you out of here!” shouts the well-dressed man who has now acted as my savior twice in a span of thirty minutes.
I nod weakly, slumping myself over his shoulder. As he takes off running, I’m forced to stabilize my head to keep it from slamming against his back.
I’d hate to see what an additional injury would do to my chances of survival.
With all of my remaining strength, I cling to his body, wrapping my body around his neck like a frightened kitten as he picks up speed. I know he’s much larger than me, but the fact that he’s able to sprint through an unpredictable crowd of terrified people is beyond my expectations of his strength.
A few loud bangs from somewhere horribly close jerk me out of my daze for a moment before I realize that they’re coming from my savior. He’s still firing at someone, which means we’re still in danger.
If I were more coherent, I’m certain that this whole scene would leave an irreparable scar on my psyche. I’ve spent my whole life preparing for something awful like this to happen, especially as a child in school. No amount of active shooter drills would have prepared me for this.
Without the help of this man, I’d be dead in the water.
As he picks up speed and my resolve fades again, I struggle even more to maintain my grasp. I begin to slip from the sleek material of his jacket, preparing for the inevitable drop when he decides that I’m impeding his own survival.
But he’s involved in all this. Don’t forget – he came prepared.
