The cafeteria buzzed with the usual clamor of lunchtime—trays clattering, laughter echoing, and the unmistakable aroma of mystery meat wafting through the air. As students lined up, a sudden commotion erupted near the dessert counter. A towering stack of trays began to wobble, and before anyone could react, they toppled like dominoes, sending chocolate pudding and mashed potatoes flying in all directions.

Laughter turned into silence, and silence turned to chaos as people scrambled to dodge the oncoming "missiles."

Then I woke up from my daydream. Everything seemed normal: laughter echoing, popular girls snapping pictures, and a massive line of students waiting for lunch. I looked at the dessert bar where I had envisioned the food fight starting. The cafeteria buzzed with the usual clamor of lunchtime... Is this déjà vu? Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the dessert bar. This isn’t déjà vu. I’ve been here before.

I quickly grabbed a metal tray, preparing to shield myself from the array of mashed potatoes flying across the cafeteria. Suddenly, a loud gunshot was heard from outside. Teachers on duty quickly checked their phones to confirm that this was just a surprise school shooting drill. This is America, after all—what’s so special about school shooting drills?

I looked closely at my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Ledger. Her face dropped in shock and fear; that isn’t the Mrs. Ledger I know. The Mrs. Ledger I know is a cheerful person who finds optimism in everything. I could see that the teachers were trying their best to stay calm for us. They told us to hide under the tables.

Out of nowhere, the principal announced through the old and rusty speaker, "Everything’s fine. Teachers, please bring the students back outside. Today lunch will end early." I could sense the fear in his voice, but who were we to disobey?

As we left the cafeteria, we were met by shooters—armed and dangerous, their intimidating eyes piercing into my soul. Everyone ran in fear, including me. But the more we ran, the more they fired shots at us. By the time I hid in the janitor's locker, three-quarters of our school had been shot. I curled up in a ball, trying to forget all that was happening.

I heard footsteps—loud and intimidating—coming closer and closer. As the door opened, I braced for impact. I was going to die, and I knew it. The moment the door opened, my eyes met the fierce and intimidating gaze of the shooter.

“Boom.” I was shot. I fell to the floor, my eyes growing heavier and heavier. When my head hit the ground, I saw the black boots of the shooter, covered in the blood of unlucky students and teachers. My eyes closed.

In that fleeting moment, I saw my life flash before me—from the moment I said my first word to the moment I graduated. Memories flooded my mind: laughter shared with friends, the warmth of family gatherings.

As darkness enveloped me, a single thought emerged: I wished I had more time. More time to love, to laugh, to make a difference in the world. And in that moment of despair, I understood something vital—life, with all its unpredictability and chaos, is precious.

Death is inevitable, but what we do with the time we have is what truly matters. I hoped that my friends, my family, and even the ones I had yet to meet would remember this truth: to cherish each moment, to hold each other close, and to live fully, even in the face of uncertainty. And as my consciousness faded, I whispered a silent prayer for the living—to find strength in their love, to embrace their fears, and to always remember the beauty of life, however fleeting.