Halloween spooky story

October, 31rst 2003.

It was a sunny Sunday and I was thirteen years old. Most Sundays, my family and I used to go to the Church that was close to my house. The Church was little with huge colourful windows, white flowers around and comfortable benches with individual cushions for all of us. Every Sunday a Gospel group sang impressive songs. My eldest brother belonged to it. We felt so pride of him that we used to cry when we listened to him sing.

When we were reading he Gospel, we felt at home, and, suddenly, we all saw, (my mother, father, sisters, baby cousin, aunt, uncle, grandmother and grandfather) how my brother, who was singing in that moment, fell down on the floor with a shot in his head. Two seconds later, I wasn’t able to move, talk or shouting. The people around me were all dead, killed. I could only see blood around me.

That day, neighbours, friends and all members of my family except my mother, were killed. Nowadays I’m not able to figure out what happened there. Why a youngster from my neighbourhood did that, why his family, friends and teachers couldn’t see and feel that something was wrong with his behaviour or feelings and why was and is it allowed to have guns.

Every Sunday I say to my mother, ´please mum, don’t take me to the church!´

Mari Paz Jáimez Ortiz. 4º CAL. October 31st, 2017.