Longview, Washington I have to write this down because Mr. Kaplan says writers should capture the moments in our lives, good and bad, and this is a day in history like 9/11, but worse, because it happened right in front of me. I’m writing this in my room. The door downstairs is locked but there is shooting outside. I smell smoke from houses only a few streets away. My hand is shaking so much I can barely write this, but I’m afraid NOT to write this because somebody has to. People are going crazy. At first we thought it was just in L.A., and then just in Portland, but on the news they’re saying it’s happening all over the country and nobody knows why. I had to stop and take a nap. They’re saying not to let bit people go to sleep, but I wasn’t bit. Hope it’s all right if I just curl up and let the world go away for a while. When I’m awake, I only cry or stare at the ceiling. No appetite, and Mom thinks if I keep writing I might not be so scared and depressed like the people on the radio talking about Portland General.
