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That Little Knife
That Little Knife

That Little Knife

MraldMrald

That little knife. I wasn't supposed to have it. A kiridashi, small enough to be concealed but big enough to make a difference.that's why I took it with me to school everyday, despite all the reasons not to. I stayed out of trouble just so it wouldn't be found. I never needed it until that day.

I arrived at school on the bus. I sit alone, hood on, music playing. No one tries to talk to me and I try to talk to no one. They joke about me, how they think I'm the one who will "shoot up the school." I'm not that unstable. I'm not the enemy here. I am the protector who should never have to protect. And yet, I had to.

Second period, math. I'm on the second of two floors. An earth shattering bang, then more. We know what's happening, we've prepared for this. Lights off, blinds drawn, children hiding, crying under desks. They text their parents, thinking it will be the last time they will do so. They tell their parents something they haven't said enough in their lives. They say "I love you."

I step out from under my desk. I crouch by the door. I draw that little knife. Some panic, thinking I am part of the attack. Some are relieved, knowing I will protect them. I crouch, listening to the quiet that came after the noise of the guns. Nothing. Then foot steps. Slowly getting louder. I hear someone trying to open locked doors. The sounds get louder, louder still.

The door knob next to me is tried. I prepare myself. A students in my class, a girl, makes a sound out of panic. The sounds get louder. Then a bang. The door knob breaks. I stand up a little, still crouching a little, in a stance that I think will help me fight this attacker. I see the door start to open. I raise that little knife and wait for the best chance to attack. I see a barrel. Then an arm. Then a body. The body doesn't see me. It doesn't expect me. I attack. A quick slash to the neck, which I know is vital. The body falls. I fall too. I look at my hands.

Red. Not stained. Not tainted. This red means victory. This red means life. This red means so many good things. And yet I was stared at with looks of absolute horror. I had done something that a child was not supposed to do. I couldn't understand them, their looks, heir judgement. What was I supposed to do? I chose life. Not for me. For everyone in that room, for everyone in the rooms that attacker would have looked in next. What I did was heroic. But I became an object because of it. An object of debate. What was to be done with me? I killed. But the person I killed was a killer. That makes it okay, right? Some saw me as a savior, some saw me as a monster. Either way, no one saw me as what I was.

I was a scared child. I did what I thought was right I that moment. When I was forced to act quickly, with lives on the line, I chose to end a life to save multiple lives. And I see nothing wrong with that. However, I see fault in the fact that I had to do this. A child was forced to do this. Wjy couldn't some adult do it? Where was the government?

Locked in debate over what to do. Whether to stop guns, or immigration, or the ideas themselves that contribute to these attacks. Nothing was getting done while they were trying to figure out how to get it done. I appeared before countless officials and groups of officials. I told my story more times than I wanted to. In the end I came to a conclusion.

What if I had been armed better? What if I had been able to stop the attacker without getting within the range of that little knife? If I had a gun, the same weapon the attacker had, would I have kept my hands clean of blood? I was yelled at by some for thinking these things and praised by others for my insight. Which was right? Should I have had a gun and made it more difficult for the attacker to get into the school in the first place or should it be more difficult for the attackers to get guns in the first place? Who knows. All I know is that, when I was there, with that little knife, there were no tears. No parents attending their children's funerals. That little knife, however small it may be, has been a big part of my life, the lives of many, and the continued indecision of the government. When will they learn? When will they stop killing their constituents' children? Indecision is the real killer in this country. It needs to stop.

Author Notes: The people in this country who will never have to defend themselves need to hurry up and decide if I'm allowed to defend myself.

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About The Author
Mrald
Mrald
About This Story
Audience:
15+
Posted:
5 Jun, 2017
Genre:
Political
Type:
Sad, Serious
Words:
840
Favorites:
0
Views:
468

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