Unseen Hell

By Beau Jones

It had been a great day, until 10:13.
Third period, so close to our break.
Until 10:13.
Until the world began to shake.
Until the world began to crumble,
The world that nine year old kids knew as school
Until the lock on the side entrance tumbled
Down,
Down,
Down,
Into what we could imagine hell.
And I sat. Naive on the cement.
And I sat in a different version of that hell.
A version where there was a tightness in the air
That was only cut through by the palpable
Thud,
Thud,
Thud,
Of the hearts of the thirteen kids huddled together in that dark classroom.
I frantically prayed to hope
Because where was God?
I prayed that the little ones don’t experience this.
And the child next to me
Praying,
On his knees,
Begging.
The sign of the cross
Again,
And again,
And again.
I hear a whisper in my ear, barely recognizing the voice.
“I love you Beau, It was a good life”
My hand clasps with my friends.
This is the hell that children feel before they are shot.
This is the unseen hell that we live in.