“Please kneel.” The pews creak as everyone rises and lowers again. A cool breeze drifts through the room. Incense hangs heavy in the air, the smell so strong it makes my head ache. My eyes grow heavy, and I start to drift, wondering how much longer until lunch, until I can play outside with my friends.“Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”My friend and I start to play with our fingers until a teacher’s sharp glance warns us to be quiet. The altar servers lead us into the aisle.“The Body of Christ.” “Amen.”Back in my seat, an uneasy feeling twists in my stomach. I kneel to pray, trying to ignore it. Then—screams. Glass shatters. People drop to the ground. Teachers yell for us to get down, to stay covered. In shock, I turn to my friend. She isn’t moving. A red stain blooms on her shirt, spreading larger with every passing second. I can’t move. I can’t process what is happening.
There’s so much work to do, but I can’t stop thinking about my daughter. She’s the only thing on my mind, and I can’t focus on the documents in front of me. My back and neck ache from staring at the screen too long. What is my daughter doing right now?. I need to focus. Ring. Ring. My phone buzzes with calls and texts. Messages from other moms. Then the school is calling. “Mrs.… I’m so sorry to call, but there’s been a school shooting. You need to come as soon as possible.” Silence. The words slice through me. My stomach drops. I grab my things and run out of the building, not thinking of anything except whether my sweet girl is safe. My heels slow me down, so I kick them off and keep running. I jump in the car, fumbling with the keys, hands shaking. Traffic. Why is there so much traffic? My chest tightens with frustration. I dial my husband, sobbing as soon as he answers, telling him what’s happened. Finally, I reached the school. I rush inside, heart pounding, scanning the room for one thing: my daughter.
I see Mia’s mom sprinting across the courtyard, her eyes wild, searching desperately for her daughter. Guilt twists in my stomach, knowing what I have to tell her, that Mia isn’t okay… that she has wounds and the paramedics are trying their best to save her. Her mascara smeared down her cheeks, her voice breaking as she called her daughter’s name over and over. Her husband clutches her arm, trying to steady her, but he looks just as lost. I force my legs to move, rushing toward them. My throat tightens, but I manage the words. “She’s in the ambulance… over there.” They don’t wait for me to finish. They run, stumbling over themselves, toward the flashing red and blue lights. The sirens wailed on, but in that moment, all I could hear was the mother's cry. The crowd parts, and I watch them disappear into the blur of paramedics and stretchers. Around us, the air is heavy with screams, sirens, and the sharp scent of smoke and blood. I want to close my eyes, to block it all out, but I can’t. Not now. Not ever.
I chose to write this story because of the ongoing reality of school shootings and the devastating impact they have on families, students, teachers, and entire communities. While much of the public attention focuses on those who are lost, I wanted to bring awareness to the lasting trauma experienced by the survivors, the children who witness violence, the parents who wait in fear, and the teachers who are forced to protect their students in unimaginable circumstances. I set the story in a church to reflect the recent tragedy that occurred in a church in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and to highlight the heartbreaking truth that no place, not even the most sacred, feels safe anymore. Through this piece, I hope to give a voice to those living with the aftermath and to inspire more empathy and awareness around the issue of gun violence.
This story reflects universal and profound themes such as the loss of innocence, the fragility of safety, and the deep emotional scars caused by violence. Gun violence has become so common that many people have become numb to it, accepting the loss of innocent lives as a price to pay for the right to own firearms. Through this story, I wanted to challenge that mindset by showing the human cost, the fear, grief, and trauma experienced by victims, families, and communities. It’s not just about statistics or headlines. It’s about real people whose lives are shattered in an instant.
One of the choices I made in this story was using the first-person point of view from Mia’s friend to show that she is a young and playful kid. In the beginning, I describe her at church, noticing the smell of incense, the breeze, and how everyone is kneeling and standing. These small details help show that she is a child who is not fully focused on what’s happening. Instead, she’s thinking about lunch and playing outside with her friends. I also included her playing with her fingers during mass, which shows her energy and how easily bored she gets. All of this helps the reader see her innocence, which makes it even sadder when the violence happens. It connects to the bigger theme of how tragic it is when kids lose their sense of safety because of gun violence.
My writing process started by thinking about real events in the world, especially school shootings, and how they affect students and families. I wanted to show different points of view to help people understand the pain and fear that come with gun violence. The mentor text I used was the shooting that happened in Minnesota. It helped me learn how to write emotional moments in a real and powerful way. One challenge I had was trying to understand how different people might feel in that situation. I worked through this by looking up different stories and writing out a few versions of how I wanted each character to feel. For revision, I want to add more about Mia and her relationship with her parents, or maybe show what happened before the shooting to give more background.
One passage where I focused on pacing, distance, and voice is when the shooting starts, “Then—screams. Glass shatters. People drop to the ground. Teachers yell for us to get down…” I used short sentences to make the pace faster, so readers can feel the panic and confusion. The narrative distance is close, meaning we’re right inside the character’s head and can feel her fear. The narrative voice is that of a young girl who is scared and doesn’t understand everything happening around her. These choices help the reader connect with her feelings and see the chaos through her eyes.
Working on this story taught me how to write with more emotion and detail. I learned how to show what a character is feeling by using their thoughts and actions. It also made me think about how different people go through the same event in different ways. Writing from the point of view of a child and a parent helped me understand how scary and sad these events are. I also learned that writing about serious topics takes care and respect.