Fear, the Morning After

           The threat of mass shootings is starting to envelope the country. It used to be so rare, it never even happened. And then, after a decade, it is happening everywhere, all the time. It’s like a spreading disease with no means of control.

           And it’s weird. I don’t know why it’s happening. But it's making people scared again.

           I think in the seventies, the fear of nuclear annihilation was so great that it forced that generation to do all the things they wanted to do before the bomb dropped and destroyed everything. The thing that is so similar between nuclear blasts and public shootings is that it could happen to vast quantities of people, anywhere, anytime. And there's nothing you can do about it. Sure, you can duck and cover, and you can skip school, but the truth is that if it's going to happen, it's going to happen.

            And personally, if I were going to die, I would rather spend the rest of my time alive doing the things I wanted to do before death, than live longer hiding.

            I think that the fear of death is actually starting to push people to live. Honestly, if I were dead now, I would probably be okay with the fact that I didn’t get an A in Algebra, and not okay with the fact that I didn’t tell certain people that they saved my life. I would probably hate myself for spending so much time showering, putting socks on, and brushing my teeth, and not enough time staring out the window and playing with my dog.

The thought of death can sometimes make people uncomfortable, and they try not to think about it because it kinda makes them feel dead already. And me – I think I’m one of those people. Not that I’m particularly scared of death, but whenever the school has ceremonies about shootings,  and I imagine myself in that situation, I can probably assume my in-the-moment reflexes would be to save as many of the little guys as possible, and then just wait for my bullet. I know this because, whenever I have been in a situation of certain immediate fear, I end up in front of several other people, with my own hand on the doorknob. Not that this is proof of my great heart or something. I just don’t think that I’m particularly afraid of death.

I’m not sure that that’s a good thing.

Yesterday, even though 99% of people knew that the world was not really going to end, there was still a certain atmosphere of, “Oh crap, what if this really is the end?” You could feel that little hum of twitching fingers and darting eyes, and you could see certain girls watching certain boys, and certain boys watching certain girls, thinking whether or not this was a good enough excuse to tell them the truth.

I think that, the morning after the supposed end of the world, I still don’t feel all that great. I’m thirteen years old, and thinking about writing a will. Only, I’m pretty sure that my cello and my dog are already claimed, and nobody else would ever really appreciate my collection of thrown away kid’s sketchbooks, or dinosaur bed sheets. Living my young life in a world saturated in death is not the best viewpoint to grow up with, but the truth is, I think I would rather get up every morning and say, “Well Shady, this is it. You’re going to die today whether you like it or not, so you might as well hug everyone and tell them you love them,” than get up every morning and say, “Oh well, you have your whole life to do all that. Better get some math homework done.”

           When I was told this morning that there was a potential shooting at the school I go to yesterday, my thought process went something like this. 1) I could've died yesterday. 2) I could die ANY day. 3) If I was dead right now, what would I regret? The things that sprung to mind first were, surprisingly, calling Isaac fat, not hugging Ms. Comma goodbye, not feeding the dog that morning, and not telling Lafflin that I have his notebook on my bookshelf.

          Thoughts of death bring the truth to the surface very quickly.

          But even if I had done all that, and felt content with my dead self, I still wouldn't have felt ready for it. All it would have done is reminded me that even though I did everything in my power to do the things I wanted to do, there was still stuff I never lived long enough to be able to do. Like falling in love, or writing a book.
           Or playing the cello on the sidewalk for money.

Or yelling someone’s name in the middle of the street.

Or falling out of a tree.

See, this is why fear on the morning after the end of the world can actually be a good thing, because it shows you who you want to be. And it makes you feel Death’s boot on your butt, kicking you out of bed, saying, “You better get started TODAY.”