“Somebody!”

“Please!”

“Please, somebody!”

The screams fill my ears as I watch the news video play out. The gunshots punctuate every cry with a hollow shout. My heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings with the knowledge that if we do not fix this - if this just keeps going and we don't change something in our system - my nieces could have to worry about this when they go to school.

When I was in elementary school, the most I ever worried about was being called Four Eyes or getting sawdust thrown at me. When I was in middle school, I worried about being called the fat kid; white, windowless vans and bleeding through my pants. In high school, I worried about failing classes, not making it into our advanced choir and my friends that were suicidal. The worries I had weren't pleasant by any means, but they were nowhere near as bad as gunshot wounds or PTSD.

I never had an aggressive boyfriend that I had to worry might shoot up the school if I broke up with him. I never worried we'd ever have to actually use our knowledge of the Intruder Drill to avoid an enraged man with a gun that no civilian should have access to.

But with everything that has gone on in this very, very long year we call 2018, what if my nieces and nephew have to? I grew up very fast for my generation, but if we keep going the way we're going, none of the future generations will know what childhood is.

Save.

Their.

Innocence.