Life isn't fair. A fair's a place where you eat corn dogs and ride the ferris wheel.
Jennifer BrownMots clés death hate-list school-shooting
I understand that it would be easier for you to think of him as a hero. But, Valerie, he did kill a lot of kids. Probably not a lot of people are going to think of him as a hero.
Jennifer BrownMots clés killer school-shooting not-a-hero
Journalism is not a precise science, it's a crude art
Dan RatherMots clés science art media journalism shooting media-journalism school-shooting crude ama reddit
Bear no malice for the ones who leave you.
Bert V. RoyalMots clés suicide mental-health school-shooting
Because the truth was, and we both knew it, he'd gone long, long ago. I'd just made him stick around when he really wanted to be somewhere else. In his own weird way, he was another victim of the shooting, One of the ones who couldn't get away.
"Are you mad?" he asked, which I thought was a really strange question.
"Yes," I said. And I was. It's just that I wasn't so sure I was mad at him. But I don't think he needed to hear that part. I don't think he wanted to hear that part. I think it was important to him to hear that I cared enough to be angry.
"Will you ever forgive me?" he asked.
"Will you ever forgive me?" I shot back, leveling my gaze directly into his eyes.
He stared into them for a few moments then got up silently and headed for the door. He didn't turn around when he reached it. Just grabbed the doorknob and held it.
"No," he said without facing me. "Maybe that makes me a bad parent, but I don't know if I can. No matter what the police found, you were involved in that shooting, Valerie. You wrote those names on that list. You wrote my name on that list. You had a good life here. You might not have pulled the trigger, but you helped cause the tragedy."
He opened the door."I'm sorry. I really am." He stepped out into the hallway. "I'll leave my new address and phone number with your mother," he said before walking slowly out of my sight.
Mots clés parents forgiveness divorce unforgiven father daughter school-shooting
His fingers gouged into my leg harder. "My sister was in that cafeteria," he said. "She saw her friends die, thanks to you and that puke boyfriend of yours. She still has nightmares about it. He got what he deserved, but you got a free pass. That ain't right. You should've died that day, Sister Death. Everyone wishes you would have. Look around. Where is Jessica, if she wants you here so bad? Even the friends you came here with don't want to be with you."
"Let go of me," I said again, pulling on his fingers. But he only pinched tighter.
"Your boyfriend isn't the only one who can get his hands on a gun," he said. Slowly he eased himself up to standing again. He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out something small and dark. He pointed it at me, and when the moonlight hit it, I gasped and pressed myself against the barn wall.
Mots clés hate blame threats school-shooting
The ice cold fear I’d felt, not knowing if Wyatt was alive, pressed into the wall with other girls and surrounded by guys who were unspeakably brave, hit my body again in a wave. This was trauma—the gift that keeps on giving.
Laura Anderson KurkMots clés love grief family-relationships young-adult-fiction gun-violence school-shooting teen-fiction ya-fiction glass-girl meg-kavanagh sibling-death
With a damp palm, I turned the knob and cracked open the door. She was asleep in her freshly made bed. I can’t explain how relieved I felt for this simple mercy. She was here and safe on clean sheets.
Laura Anderson KurkMots clés grief depression mental-illness young-adult-fiction school-shooting teen-fiction ya-fiction glass-girl laura-anderson-kurk
I could’ve gone on and on but the truth was all that mattered.
“My brother died because someone was jealous.
Mots clés young-adult-fiction gun-violence school-shooting teen-fiction ya-fiction glass-girl meg-kavanagh laura-anderson-kurk
We bumped into other silent lines of kids going in the same direction. We looked like we were much younger and our lines were headed to the cafeteria or recess or the carpool line. Or it could’ve been a fire drill. Except for the stone-faced police officers weaving between us with rifles.
Laura Anderson KurkMots clés love grief siblings young-adult-fiction gun-violence school-shooting teen-fiction ya-fiction glass-girl laura-anderson-kurk
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