I could feel their eyes on me, accusing or curious, it
really didn’t matter, they were still staring. For good reason I guess. I mean,
it was all over the newspapers, the TV, heck I wouldn’t even be surprised to
see her face on a milk carton somewhere. You’d have to have been living under a
rock for the last several months to have not heard the news. It’s not like I
had done anything to her, but the accusing stares made me feel as guilty as
hell. It’s been only seven minutes and twenty-three seconds since class began
and I’m already realising it’s too early to be back, I’m not ready, not after what
happened. Will I ever get over it though? Like when you’ve had a tooth pulled
out and, even though you know it’s not there, your tongue continues to search
for it, my eyes were constantly looking for my best friend in amongst the other
students. But the seat beside had remained empty, no smiling face to instantly
brighten my day or sarcastic comment as greeting, nothing but an empty seat.
It had been six months since they took us but it still seems
like yesterday. Maybe because every night it’s always the same nightmare, every
night I wake, sometimes screaming, sometimes drenched in a cold sweat and twice
I’ve even found myself on the floor, trapped in my cocoon of blankets. Yet my
parents had still decided that it was time for me to get on with my life, off
the couch and back into school. But it would never be that simple, I’ve come to
realise the world is a much scarier place than we were ever told. Sure we were
warned, but we were also lured into the false sense of security that it always happens
to someone else, but it could never happen to you.
I felt sick. Glancing down at my watch I saw it
was only twelve minutes and forty-five seconds into the lesson. I couldn’t deal
with this. Not today. Probably not ever. I stood up, pushed my books into my
bag and, ignoring the protests from my teacher and the eyes of my peers, I
walked out.
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