A Tragic Tale From My Teenhood
Several years have passed, but not without commemorating George Luke’s departure. That tragic sunny morning in April, engraved in every brain cell of Burbank’s homeroom students, including myself. It was 8:05am, when he pulled the gun out of his backpack and right in front of our eyes, he pointed it at his temple shooting himself, escaping through a blaring echo. There was blood splattered all over his now sleeping face. In the background loud screams, cries and sobs, but for the most part, shock panic and anxiety filled the fully packed room.
Mrs. Kilbourne quickly snapped out of the chaos, she pressed the intercom calling for help and said, one of my students just killed himself closing her eyes, that’s all she could verbalize. The adjacent classrooms heard all the commotion but remained inside as per the rules. Meanwhile we were pulled out of homeroom, straight to the auditorium, some students were at the verge of passing out, shaking inconsolably. I was in a hazy daze like floating above the floor. The school counselor awaited us all, along with the principal and law enforcement, in hopes to find out what had just happened. Driving back through the streets of Burbank, George Luke smiles now at peace and I still remember him through the whispers of springtime.
Voices of Ghosts