I saw my friends die in Parkland shooting

Marjory Stoneman Douglas student Eden Hebron still asks: “Why not me?”

Valentine’s Day: Feb. 14, 2018, started as a day of love for me. Love from my parents, my sister and my friends, including Alyssa. From picking out my favorite pink shirt, to consuming my favorite chocolates, love and happiness filled the air. Love filled the air while I was walking to my 4th period class, in the freshman building. Love filled the air when I hugged Alyssa, as we caught up about our days. Love filled the air as we walked in, and sat next to each other. Love filled the air as we were writing an essay, and couldn’t stop laughing.

Love, happiness and laughter filled the air until 2:21 p.m.

“Bullets, Alyssa? That’s funny. You know we’re in Parkland, right?” As much as I wished it was a prank, it wasn’t. And before I knew it, we were not practicing for our Florida Standards Assessments writing exam. We were hiding.

Fear took over my mind, shock took over my body, and Alyssa’s worried face took over my eyes. Two feet between me and my friend. And 20 seconds between life and death. I am 2 feet away from the nearest person, but we will be together again soon.

More gunshots. And they get closer, and closer. Until that loud sound was coming from the door of my classroom. The glass of our door shatters. Along with my innocence and safety.

Every gunshot I heard was the sound of my brain going deeper into shock. My body was there, under a table, fearing for my life. But my mind was still at my desk, laughing with Alyssa. I look at my friend. And within seconds, Alyssa is struck with bullets. She is dying. My friend, who I was talking with two minutes before, is dying.

Looking back, I see myself sitting under that table, thinking these were my last moments of life. And I may have just watched Alyssa die, but another person will now watch me die.

But I survived. I walked out of that classroom thinking, “Why not me?” I still think this every single day. Walking out of that classroom, emotions took over my mind. But my eyes were still looking at the dead bodies in my English room. My friends. Is this a dream? Did I really just see my friends die? What did I do to survive? Why were innocent souls taken from this world? Where are my parents?

The next four hours were a blur. I still didn’t know if what I saw was real, or if my mind was playing some game with me. But I checked the news and looked at the “victims.” Seeing Alyssa’s picture was heartbreaking. Seeing Alex’s picture was my memory seeing his body flipped over on his desk. Seeing Alaina’s picture was reality hitting me with “three kids in my class were killed.”

People kept telling me how it gets easier. But for me, it got worse. As days went by, it became more apparent that 17 lives were taken from this world, and I was in the room with three of those lives as they were murdered.

Seven weeks later and I’m just beginning the painful aftermath of this massacre. Differentiating between trauma and the grief. It’s as if both of those terrible battles collided in my brain. And came at me all at once. Like a monster.

I had moved to Douglas from a private school. For the typical high school experience I longed for. For the friends I could see within a 10-minute car ride. For the people like Alyssa. The friend I was looking forward to spending the rest of high school with.

The rest of my experience at Douglas has not been ruined. It’s been altered. But most important, I have been altered. My aspirations, my beliefs, my perspectives, my lifestyle, even my fears in this life.

Immediately after the shooting, I felt hopeless. Like my life had been ruined. Then I refused to think this way. I will not allow another school to have 17 fewer people walking around. And I will most certainly not allow anyone else see her friends get shot and die.

I wrote this article for one reason and one reason only. So you, readers, would know what it was like to have been in Room 1216 on Valentine’s Day. Don’t let the Feb.14, 2018, massacre ever be forgotten.