Pecanpieandchocolatemilk

The Eastsons Chapter 10

Peter stared at his cell phone in shock as the Skype call between him and his Anime and Gaming club teacher, Mr. Livington, continued. The strawberry blond preteen was numbed beyond belief, his mind racing with horrific images and overwhelming emotions. That would have been him if he had gone to the convention as planned. That chilling realization struck him hard—his heart felt heavy as he grappled with the thought of how easily his life could have been turned upside down.

He imagined himself laying in a pool of his own blood, gasping for breath, the very air filled with chaos and fear. The echoes of gunfire ringing through his mind were deafening as he envisioned the psychopath rampaging through the university building, fueled by an incomprehensible rage. That could have been him if his sister’s birthday wish of going camping had not stopped him from attending the anime and gaming club convention at the University of Winter Hills this day. Fate had intervened in a way that he would never have anticipated, pulling him away from a gathering that was supposed to be filled with laughter, anime discussions, and gaming excitement to star gazing, family bonding and camping. Just so he could….. Was it his mother and father prays each night? Was it his church members prays? Was that what….

He couldn’t shake off the image of his club teacher, Mr. Livington, who always spoke with enthusiasm about the latest anime series and gaming strategies. Now, there he was, bleeding out from a gunshot wound, much like what Peter could have faced if destiny had chosen differently. The raw horror of that thought sent chills down Peter’s spine—him, a victim, just another casualty in a senseless act of violence. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him, mixed with relief, as he recalled how fortunate he was to be safe, yet tormented by the idea that he could have easily been caught in a tragedy beyond comprehension.

Peter’s mind swirled with memories of friendly banter, shared interests, and connections with his fellow club members. Those moments were now tainted by the looming shadow of what could have been, leaving him feeling disoriented. He was not just a spectator in this nightmare; he was a part of it, linked by the thin thread of fate that had kept him away from that convention, away from despair—and possibly from death itself. A tear slipped down his cheek as he contemplated the deep impact of this incident, understanding that life could change in an instant, leaving behind a haunting ‘what if’ that would forever echo in his mind.

“Mr. Livington?” Peter called his teacher name through the phone as another gunshot echoed.  “Are you ok?”

“Yeah….” Mr. Livington said after a pause, then another gunshot echoed through the sprawling university cafeteria, a sound that felt like a dark omen. “I am fine,” he insisted, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him as he coughed up blood, his conditions deteriorating before Peter’s eyes. On the large black man’s face was a smile, both reassuring and tragic, a mask he wore like armor to shield the children from the harsh reality surrounding them. Peter knew it was the kind of smile that adults used to try to ease children’s worries, concealing their own fears beneath a facade of calm. Not far from Mr. Livington was Peter’s best friend since 4th grade, Samuel Rainfan, lying in his own pool of blood, a sight too horrific for words. Peter’s heart raced as he wondered—was the other boy dead? He hadn’t moved in a while since being shot, just like all the other kids and adults scattered throughout the vast convention main hall, which had been filled with laughter and excitement just minutes earlier. Who could do something like this? Why shoot at children? Especially little middle schoolers, high schoolers, and even some innocent elementary schoolers caught in the chaos? As his Uncle Joseph on his dad’s side in Maryland would often say during their visits when watching the news, “What a sick puppy!” The words echoed in Peter’s mind, a grim reminder of the senselessness of violence as he stood frozen, grappling with the horror of the scene unfolding before him.

Peter felt hot tears began to roll down his cheeks increasingly, his body trembling as he grappled with the overwhelming emotions swirling within him. That could have been him, he thought, heart pounding with a mix of fear and regret. Was his sister’s birthday wish of camping a blessing in disguise, a chance for adventure that could save his life, or was it a sweet twist of fate that he had dismissed so carelessly? As memories of their childhood excursions flooded his mind, he questioned whether he was wrong in feeling annoyed by her and her wish earlier in the week, reflecting on how he had taken their shared moments for granted. The weight of the realization pressed heavily on his chest, leaving him to wonder how life could change in an instant and whether he had truly appreciated the bonds that held them together.

That could have been him. Peter continued to weep as he listened to his teacher coughing up blood, the horrifying sounds of screams and shouts echoing in the air, accompanied by the sharp crack of gunshots ringing off screen in the background. Oh my goodness! His heart raced, pounding against his chest as he struggled to comprehend the chaos unfolding around his teacher. What was he supposed to do? The world he once knew felt shattered and distant. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was only 12, just in the 6th grade, still trying to navigate the trials of adolescence, balancing homework with carefree moments of laughter with friends. The thought that this brutal reality could have so easily been his own made the fear of the unknown swell within him. That could have been him!

“Peter.” Mr. Livington’s voice entered Peter’s mind, drawing him from his swirling thoughts like a lighthouse guiding a ship through a foggy night. The sound was steady and comforting, a reminder that he was not alone in his despair.

“Yes?” Peter hiccuped through his weeping, his voice trembling as he struggled to hold back the flood of emotions that surged within him. His heart ached with a mixture of sadness and confusion, feelings that seemed almost insurmountable. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, hoping to erase the evidence of his tears, but the heaviness in his chest remained.

“Dial 9 11. We need the cops and ambulances. “

Salome Jackie D Peah

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