24 Hours in Hell

That Morning/Hour 1- 10 Years Later

I walk down the stairs, zipping up my teal sweatshirt. I grab a pop tart from the cabinet then walk over to the mirror. My mother sat at the table taking small sips of her coffee and staring into space.

"Good morning," I say to my mother even though she probably wasn't listening. She doesn't answer. She tuned us out most of the time and completely forgot our existence. She's been doing it since my dad had died 3 years ago.

Every once in awhile she'd pull it together for a wedding, funeral, holidays, etc., but that was a very rare occasion.

I stare at my reflection while brushing my hair. I wore a teal sweatshirt with a grey t-shirt under it with a pair of tan skinny khakis and teal DC high-tops. I tie my long brown hair up in a high ponytail.

I kneel down helping my 5 year old brother, Grant, zip up his sweatshirt. Which he desperately needed help with. 

"I don't want to go to school today," Grant whines.

"Yeah, well, neither do I," I smile. He give me the puppy dog eyes, even quivered a lip. I just laugh. "Here." I pull his stuffed teddy bear from his arms and place him gently in his backpack. "Mr. Tedward can come to school with you too."

I walk out to my car with Grant. I help him buckle in and drive to school.

There was only one school in Springfield, Minnesota because it was a small town. It was big though. It had to be. I mean, it has to be. It holds 12 grades.

By noon, I was starving, but something didn't sit right in my stomach. I was starving, but every time I took a bite, I could barely keep it down.

"Something wrong?" my friend, Hanna, asks.

"Yeah, no. I'm fine. Something doesn't seem right," I spill out.

A loud bang comes from across the cafeteria causing me to drop my tray. Screams and cries of pain come from the same direction.

But then came another and another and another and another.