By Mary McCoy
An overwhelming sound rings…
It’s the static on the PA.
Expecting some sort of dismissal for some student, I stop listening.
But the PA sounds once more.
“We are under lockdown, This is not a drill.”
“Ya sure!” I joke to my friends.
We lock the door, turn off the lights, and crouch in the corner.
“Hey! At least we are missing a boring lesson!”
An overwhelming sound rings once more.
It’s the shot of a gun and the breaking of a lock,
And “love you”s exchanged between friends.
“Damn, I knew I should have skipped class!”
I grab my best friend’s hand and try to act calm.
I wish I just knew how to fight.
And with a glance he turns to me.
Someone I have never seen before…
A sound rings once more.
This time it’s my own voice pleading for help.
But a sound rings once more.
The sound of a gun.
And yet, another sound:
my best friend telling me to not give up.
But it isn’t enough.
About the Author
Mary McCoy is 17 years old and has been writing poetry for 3 years. After a school shooting near her town, she began suffering from terrible nightmares about school shootings. And thus, this poem arose.
Bullets into Bells 