There are those that say life is horrible and there is no point in it, yet others say life is great and we should rejoice for it. I used to think of life as being in a neutral state. Anything that happens just happens. After it happens you should just get over it. Of course, that was until she died.
My name is Kaden. I’m not gonna get into last names because that’s too sappy. I had a pretty good life. My high school days were fine. I was one of those middle kids. I didn’t get picked on and I didn’t pick on anyone. I was fairly tall, with long, shaggy, black hair and emerald green eyes. I wasn’t very thick at all; in fact I was pretty scrawny.
I had the best friend in the world. Her name was Elizabeth, but I called her Liz. She was about six inches shorter than me with shoulder length cocoa brown hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever see. She was thinner even than me. We shared everything together, from cake to secrets. We both had secrets that would ruin our reputations and, possibly, our lives if anyone found out. I smoked pot and she cut herself. We never talked about it though. Sometimes, I wish we had. We both did it for the same reasons. We needed to get away from our lives. I said I had a good life, but that was at school. At home it was a whole other story.
My mom hated my dad and my dad could care less about her. I tried to do my best to impress my dad but nothing I ever did was good enough for him. He was always telling me what I could have done better, or always talking about every little mistake I made. He never had anything good to say about me or the things I could do well. That’s why I smoked.
Liz didn’t like it when I smoked and I didn’t like it when she cut. We got over it because we knew each other’s reasons. The only reason I never got caught was the fact that my mom didn’t care and my dad was too drunk to notice. Liz was never caught because she cut on her upper thighs. It’s not like her parents would have cared. They never cared about her. They didn’t even cry at her funeral.
I used to be happy just when I saw her face, but after what happened I went weeks without smiling. I never saw a reason to.
I don’t like talking about the day she died, but when I get through the story it makes me feel better. Most of the time I blame the shooter, but sometimes, I blame myself.
It all started on a wonderful day. My mom had actually gotten up and made me breakfast before school. I ate, and then left to wait for the bus. It pulled up as soon as I got to the stop and I even got the back seat next to Liz. We went to school and talked until the bell rang then in our math class we didn’t get any homework and in gym we got to play dodge ball. I thought there was nothing that could ruin my day. I didn’t know how wrong I was.
Liz and I were on our way to our history class when an announcement was made that there was a man with a dangerous weapon in the school. I grabbed her hand and ran behind some lockers. We were waiting for about fifteen minutes when I noticed something above me. The man was right there.
He grabbed Liz and she screamed. I could tell that he was scared and so was I. I didn’t know what to do, but I asked him to take me instead and he wouldn’t listen.
“Tell me the fastest way out or your girlfriend’s brains will paint the wall!!” He yelled.
“Don’t do it!” screamed Liz.

Two things popped into my head when he yelled at me.

I should tell him where to go.

She’s not my girlfriend.

I told him the way out and he pushed Liz towards me, but before she got to me she turned around to say something.

Time seemed to slow down.

There was a flash of metal.

A gunshot.
Liz was falling.
“NO!!!!” I yelled
Time sped up as I ran to catch Liz. I wanted so badly to run and catch him, but I knew I had to be there for Liz. We slid to the floor and I saw blood soaking her shirt. She had been shot in the chest. Her breathing was getting ragged.
She said weakly, “This is gonna make some story huh?” Then she died in my arms. I sat there crying and rocking back and forth for what seemed like hours before help came, but it was only minutes. I didn’t notice the kids gathering around us. I didn’t notice the teachers telling them to get back. I didn’t even notice the police officer trying to pull me away. All I noticed was Liz lying dead in my arms. She was the only person I considered family and now she was gone.
The policeman finally pulled me away and asked me what happened. He needed me to tell him what the shooter looked like. I told him without even thinking about what was going on. All I could think about was her lifeless body in my hands. I was escorted home and went straight to my room. I stayed in there the whole week crying until I had no more tears. I couldn’t sleep because every time I closed my eyes I saw her getting shot.
A week after Liz’s murder I was dressed up and ready for her funeral. Every fiber of my body screamed at me not to go but I owed her this. It was a cloudy morning. When my mom started driving to the cemetery it started to drizzle. I pretended it was the sky starting to cry for Liz.
We arrived at the procession and took our place near the coffin. The priest started his speech about how she’s in a better place. I didn’t listen. All I did was stand there and stare at the glossy looking wood case that held my best friend. I looked up and around. Everywhere I looked there were sad faces. I saw friends, and teachers who looked miserable, but then I saw her parents and immediately filled with rage. Her parents weren’t crying. They didn’t look sad. They just looked irritated as if this was costing them too much time and money. I couldn’t believe them. I stayed until the funeral was over then as everyone left I told my mom to wait in the car. I kneeled by the coffin, and placed my head on it. With tears streaming down my face I whispered, “I’m so sorry Liz. I wish I could have protected you. I’ll miss you every day of my life. Goodbye.”
I stayed in my room all the time only leaving for school. The weeks went by in a blur. Nothing seemed real anymore. Two months after Liz was shot the police called me and told me they found the man that killed her. I wanted to ask him why he shot her. I needed to know.
I went down to the police station and went through all the security measures. They sat me in a room with him and closed the door. I looked him in the eyes. He seemed to have no remorse. No guilt for what he had done. So I asked him why he shot her. Then he smiled at me, looked me dead in the eye with a look that held nothing but malice and said, “My finger slipped.”
I stood up and, with all the strength and fury I had in me, punched him in the nose. It started gushing blood. I kept hitting him and hitting him and finally I was kindly ‘escorted’ out of the police station. The police said a bus was scheduled to pick him up later that day, so I wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. I was then sent home full of rage.
After I got a clear head I called the police station and said I wanted to apologize. They said that the bus was about to pick him up but if I hurried I could talk to him while he was getting transported onto the bus.
I grabbed my coat and slid what I needed into the inside pocket. I had my mom drive me there as quickly as possible. When we reached the police station I saw him being escorted onto the bus. I jumped out of the car and walked towards him. The moment he saw me he tried to get away but the policemen held him in place. Before anyone could stop me, I pulled out my dad’s old revolver from the inside of my coat, put the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger.
“Oops,” I said, “my finger slipped.”
I was sentenced to twenty-five years in the prison where, ironically, the shooter was supposed to go. I’m still here and I have twenty-three years left. Everyone asks if I regret doing what I did and I just tell them, “I don’t regret what I did; in fact, I wish I could do it again.”
There are those that say life is horrible and there is no point in it, yet others say life is great and we should rejoice for it. I used to think of life as being in a neutral state. Anything that happens just happens. After it happens you should just get over it. Of course, that was until she was murdered.