Date Submitted: 10/24/2015
I was six years old, in Washington, DC. I was in my first grade class. At some point during the day, I suppose when word got out, the teacher gathered us up, and took us to a church. We sat in the pews and were told to duck down, just in case anything else happened. We stayed there a while, I did not know what was going on, and then we were brought back to school. I remember my mom and sister coming to pick me up. That's all.
Those who die innocent deaths never really die. They are everywhere; we just don't see them in quite the same way. And the culmination of what they were and what their death meant is as prevalent and tangible as the warmth in your soul and the sorrow in your heart.
Imran (story excerpt)