Narrative Essay On Shooting Guns

There were about 20 of us, all below the age of nine, sitting anxiously on scratchy carpet. We were squashed shoulder to shoulder trying not to be seen hiding behind the librarian’s desk in a cramped back office. Looking around me, some students were crying, some had fallen asleep and others were listening intently as the librarian whispered, reading a book to calm us down. So much time, what had felt like hours, had already passed. Unable to leave the room, two students had hesitantly relieved themselves into a small trash can. What we didn’t know at the time, was that a prisoner had just escaped from the prison that was less than a six blocks away from the school. The escapee had broken into some classmates houses, stealing clothes and a gun. Out of what I assume was the desire not to worry us, the teachers didn’t explain what was happening, allowing our imaginations to wander. This was in 2007, a year that saw several mass shootings including the Virginia Tech Massacre where 32 people were killed and another 23 were injured. Although young, we were all acutely aware of the gun violence that was just getting

I shot my first gun when I was seven years old. I was at my grandpa’s house, where the whole family had been shooting all day. I begged them to let me join in on all the fun. After reminding me of all the safety rules (that they had been teaching me for years) several times, they handed me a small .22 gauge rifle. I was barely strong enough to hold it up to aim. As I lifted it to aim at a pop can in the yard, my heart was pounding out of my chest. All those warnings of just how dangerous this was were putting me on edge. I braced myself hard and squeezed the trigger, missing by a mile. My family all cheered and I smiled. It was truly fun; the loud noise, the powerful feeling. It only got more enjoyable once I was actually able to hit the cans and watch them explode in front of