I don’t remember the first drill. Only the sound it made. The blaring horn shot through my ears, and I thought my eardrums would explode. But they didn’t. They just bled a little. Better to have a little blood than be dead. That’s what they always told us.
The last drill was significant. It sounded like they turned up the horn a notch or two, but I could be wrong. They even added in some floor vibrations and shattered windows for realism. I’ll admit, that last drill scared me more than any other.
When the drill finished, all us students got out from under our desks. Some kids cried. The teacher never came out from her desk. As the room started to become anarchy, I went over to the teacher’s desk to see why.
I’ll never forget that last drill because the teacher never made it to her desk. But mostly I’ll never forget because that’s the first time I saw a dead body.