No Shots Fired

No shots were fired

No alarms blaring

No sirens

But the gun was loaded

and it was lunch

And there were so many people

This could have easily been a mass casualty

This could have easily been the end

It could have been

Loud thunder-crack shots

Holes in heads, in chests, in stomachs

Her amber hair sprawled on blood-thick floors

It could have been

His glasses shattered on the floor

Bloodied hands clutching at wounds

Trying to stop a friend’s bleeding

It could have been

The class clown suddenly serious

Corralling scared students into closets, classrooms

Taking charge till his dying breath

It could have been 

The blonde-haired writer

Bleeding out on the courtyard grass

Never getting to publish her story

It could have been

Sobbing students underneath tables

No way to text home

No phones to text their parents “i love you”

It could have been another Sandy Hook

It could have been another national news story

It could have been a school full of students

Turned a school full of victims

Turned a school full of bodies

Bodies cold, lifeless, paper-pale

Bodies shaking, crying, clutching to a friend (dead or alive)

Bodies in classrooms farther away, listening to deafening screams, 

then deafening silence (unable to help)

And no shots were fired

But the gun was loaded

And then we all just. . .

Went to fourth block