Fresh, Fast and Fried

How long have we been running? It feels like hours. This is that feeling, you know, like in a dream where you are running as fast as you can and you are getting nowhere. Ashunte wants to give up, she thinks that she might and then the hand grips her shoulder tight, then the other over her mouth; glued there, more like tape than a hand.

Garret spins her body around to face her. He takes in her face and then her body. He is relieved to see that the moisture he felt on her face is just tears and sweat; not blood.

The smell of metal is heavy in the air. The popping in the distance. They hear the sirens first. The cries and whimpers of those left in pools of their blood just down the hall. Then they hear the hushed “shit” followed by hurried footsteps and heavy breathing. The doorknob begins to twist and turn. Ashunte and Garret grip each other in fear. No one is breathing. Their bodies are shaking as they hear the thud of the gun hitting the lock. Then a sickening thud as the light breaks through their complete darkness. They stumble back still holding each other and look down into his face.

The shooter stares back up at them. His eyes are resting on their faces; blank and distant, somewhere between life and death.

It is 4 o’clock when Ashunte is finally released to the group home social worker and manager. They are grabbing at her frantically, hugging her without permission, acting in a most unprofessional way. Ashunte doesn’t blame them though. No one trains staff how to react when one of your residents becomes the victim of a school shooting.

Their words fall away from Ashunte’s ears. The whole world is muted and nothing can go on. The images in front of her become blurred, she is crying but she is not thinking of any one thing, she can’t think- only be right now.

Darkness falls in the summer night sky. The air around Ashunte is warm. She is on the porch and she doesn’t know when she got there or how long it has been. She doesn’t care either. For the first time in hours, she is having a conscious thought. “What the hell is that dinging?” She thinks. Her phone has been pinging with updates from social media, in her text messages.

Ashunte slowly lifts her phone to her face. “11 dead in school shooting, 29 injured.” A headline comes across her screen. She clicks the notification and feels sick. His eyes, his face, it’s burned into her mind. She wants it to not register, she knows this is far from over. Her chest rises and falls with guilt. She retires to her bed, clenching a pillow and bearing down. She will wait for sleep, ultimately, she is waiting for her fate. Ashunte knows as they continue their investigation, they will find out that he was there for her.