I am scared. 

I am scared all the time. 

I am scared walking to class, in class, walking home, running errands, getting coffee, eating dinner. I am scared that my campus will be next, that I will be next.

Next in the string of 45 school shootings in the United States this year, next in the countless amount of mass shootings nationwide. The next memorial picture shown on the 6pm news, while mothers gasp and students shudder.

I am scared because I know the damage a bullet does. Because I know how easy a gun is to purchase.

I am scared because I am an EMT. How would I stop the bleeding? What would I use? Socks? Leggings? A tampon repurposed as a wound plug?

I am scared because even if I purchase military grade tourniquets and hemostatic powder and thermal blankets and packed gauze and anything else I could possibly need to treat a life threatening bullet wound in the field, I have no guarantee I can get it safely in an emergency.

I am scared because I don’t know how to call my mother and tell her goodbye. I don’t know how to say I love you for the last time.

I am scared because nothing has changed. The government proclaims horror, but their legislation does not reflect it.

I am scared because the execution of my peers has become normal.