first of all the school closed for a little while, just a few days as if in solidarity but actually in fear along with all the other schools around it great hulking buildings cowering silently behind meagre security systems.
when we went back we couldn't get in we had to have passes be buzzed in at the door like strangers while a fish-eyed camera lens glared at us metallic, stark, judgmental.
then the drills began. lessons suddenly interrupted taken over by escape procedures and gas masks why were there gas masks? i don't know.
we, as children, were taught how to hide how to cower under our desks how to build ourselves into corners - how a triangle is the strongest shape (i tried this once, a few months later, in a different situation. it didn't work.)
the drill would sound, horrendously loud a bell screaming at us hysterical, panicking but we must remain calm remain calm, the teachers said get under your desks or something stronger if you can build yourself a fortress don't try to be heroic.
our friends died in that massacre and other people did yesterday over the sea (ande bari pani) and i cannot stop thinking about them.
i can't say i know how it feels, because everyone reacts differently in situations like this.
but i have been closer than most to this particular fire to the feeling of ragged helplessness as you stand at the sideline, praying that the next person to stop drawing breath is not one you know.
these thoughts haunt you later: how can i be so selfish, you ask yourself what could possibly make it ok for someone else's loved one to die as long as their path had not crossed my own?
tonight i sit huddled over a notebook crouched on the edge of my bed as this gnawing physical ache pierces further into my stomach.
i stay here in the silence, try to write, because i need to get out what i'm thinking about but there is no way, not really.
no way that i can adequately tell of the horror the realisation of what has happened that these awful things that you see in the movies can also be real. no way that i can eloquently speak about the look on a mother's face as she discovers that her child is gone. "it's the wrong way round!" she'll scream later, "it should have been me first!" but for now she just crumples her face folding within itself her mouth collapsing in a silent scream, she drains grey.
no way that i can really speak of what i actually want to say and so instead i say simply:that
my thoughts are in connecticut there are no words for this.