We heard screams, then saw a person fall past our window, chest ruined with bullets. Maybe we knew them? Maybe at one point, we had seen them before. Otherwise, they were nameless. Then we saw him. Older kid, maybe 17 in a hoodie, holding an assault rifle, with plenty of ammo to spare. He looked like he could be a senior, nobody recognized him. Where were the police in all of this, we can only guess. We were all seen almost instantly, none of us had been able to fully hide. He had entered the school from the area closest to our classroom, there was no way we could have gotten away. He didn't seem to want us just yet, as he turned to fire more bullets where he came from, inviting more screams from the kids it that direction. We needed more time, something so precious that was now unavailable.

Some of the girls hugged each other, silent tears flowing down their cheeks. Even some boys who I have known since middle school seemed broken at this moment, now that our lives were no longer our own. It was no longer our decision to live, it was the one behind the gun. Our teacher was as lost as we were, we had nothing that could even nearly qualify as a weapon. Our only option was a pair of safety scissors that belonged in an elementary school. Might as well go down swinging. Then I remembered. I had my own scissors. While one boy took the small scissors, I grabbed my own. We held them like knives, ready to stab. I had never spoken to this kid before, but I admired him. He was only one besides me willing to try to give others a chance. We both knew there was no way we would walk away from this, but we seemed to sadly accept this fate. Some other kids turned their desks over as a sort of shield. Others still grabbed some heavy books, to use as a diversion.

Then the bullets stopped.