Personal Narrative: Happy To Be Alive

Personal Narrative: Happy To Be Alive

People often ask why I seem to be so happy; my usual reply is "because

I'm alive".

It was six days after my eleventh birthday, so naturally I was happy,

but by the end of this day there are feelings I had that I never knew

existed.

I recall my primary six teacher asking my class to gather round her as

she had something to tell us. She said that a man had gone into a

primary school in Dunblane and started shooting at innocent children.

The thought that someone could this came to me as a great shock but I

did not even consider what might have happened to my cousin, Emma, who

lives there. In all honesty I had forgotten about her.

It wasn't until I walked past my house window after school and I could

see my mum crying, I filled up with worry but the thought of what had

happened to my cousin still never entered my mind. I looked at her,

then my mum said my cousin's name. It felt like my legs had just

disintegrated. I could not stand. I filled up with both crushing

emotion and devastating anger. The reason for my tears was obvious but

the answer for my aggression plagued my mind endlessly. I found myself

unable to look at anyone. The room was filled with loved ones who were

going through the exact same as I was yet each look came across as so

patronising.

I felt the only way to get away from the pain and anguish that

encircled the living room was to go to my room. I sat alone in

silence. This silence made my anger grow until I lashed out; I began

to hit the wall repeatedly. The more pain I felt the more I hit. I

wanted to try and feel some of the pain my cousin might have. I don't

ev...

... middle of paper ...

...o talk about the horror of what

happened.

This experience dramatically changed my outlook on life. As a person I

don't feel that there was much of a change but the way I now look at

things is different. I knew that for Emma's sake I had to go out and

face the world. As the cliché goes, I now take every day in my stride.

I smile to show that I'm grateful that I'll experience what life has

to offer me. To this day still the topic arises, in classes a teacher

may mention it. When this is talked about I get an indescribable

feeling going throughout my body. This may be the way that emotion

works. I'm not sure. All over the world people are still using

handguns. No matter how many protests take place people still feel the

need. My only question is why? Why shoot someone? Is there a sense of

power that comes with that?