![]() If only they knew the whole story-the one that starts with a thirty-year-old photo of a missing student and ends with watching his killer die on the floor of his own foyer-they'd understand that I could never not think about what I've done. I know that having my phone, computer, and social life taken away is my parents' way of ensuring I have nothing to do all summer but think about the things I've done. Since then, I've been unofficially expelled from the Wheatley School, grounded for what's quite possibly the rest of my teenage years, and exiled from my friends. It's been more than two months since Anthony and I watched Steven Westbrook shoot Shepherd, his former classmate, in the chest. And worst of all, the way Travis Shepherd's eyes froze as the life left his body. The sound of glass breaking in the front door. The smell of cinnamon and pine furniture polish. The weightlessness of having dodged a bullet. ![]() The adrenaline that filled me, knowing I survived. ![]() They say your life is supposed to flash before your eyes, but all I remember is the moment after. The first time I looked death in the face, I blinked and it was gone. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |