Content warning: This article contains sensitive content that could be triggering for some readers regarding gun violence.
For a long time, I’d imagined the sound of a gunshot as something unmistakable—an ear-splitting, deafening sound that reverberated as a primal sound of death itself. I thought I’d recognize it instantly if I ever heard it.
On Halloween night, dressed as Sandy Cheeks from SpongeBob SquarePants, I assumed the pop echoing through the crowd at 1 a.m. was nothing but a firework. There were several suspended seconds of silence of confusion from the crowd until it was shattered by the sudden, desperate movement of people fleeing. Amid the chaos, I lost my group of nine in the blink of an eye and quickly understood my initial assumption was catastrophically wrong.
There were no fireworks, and I was alone and in danger. Disorientated, gripped by a paralyzing fear, my body began moving blindly. My heart was pounding in my ears with an unimaginable level of disbelief at every step. Then, I felt the vice-like grip of a friend’s hand close around my wrist. I was so unmoored from the situation that she caught me stumbling toward the sound.
I was pulled behind a concrete banister and thankfully reunited with my friends. We looked at the frantic crowd of people running in fear. When the huge sea of bodies began clearing out, we saw people recording a body on the floor. We did not know at the time it was Tyrek Hill, a 25-year-old man who was shot in the head. His mother had to find out about his sudden death through a video of his lifeless body on the internet. According to WESH 2, Hill’s cousin, Lamaria Dean, said it was painful to see raw footage of the aftermath circulating on social media.
“This is not how you want to find out about anything,” Dean said.
I remember feeling strange seeing the number of phones zooming in on his body. There was something so dystopian about it, seeing how desensitized we were to witnessing something like this. Someone’s nightmare was being posted on someone else’s Snapchat story.
We were all terrified and confused—uncertain whether the figure on the ground was a victim or the shooter, uncertain if it was safe to leave our hiding place, uncertain of everything. The silence began to settle around us like a cloak, and for a moment, we thought it might be over. But then, in a sight that still haunts me, the scattered, vacant crowd suddenly erupted once more into frantic motion. That was when it struck us—the man on the floor might not be the shooter, and we are still in danger.
We clung to each other in a single file line. Our hands clasped together as we pushed through crowds of people, each face we passed mirroring our bewilderment and anxiety. There was no understanding of anything—just a desperate, raw need to reach the car and pile in, clinging to the small comfort of its enclosed, protected space. At that moment, we all shared a single thought: to get to safety and finally be out of reach.
We were hesitant to piece together what we had just witnessed. The flood of police cars tearing down the blocked streets and the flashes of red and blue clouding our vision made it clear—this was far worse than we could have imagined. As we stumbled through each block, we entered streets the news had yet to reach. The jarring, surreal divide felt like a knife twisting in my chest with the sight of carefree partygoers moving toward the chaos we were just running from. With every step, the surrounding crowd around us thinned, and soon, people were no longer walking with us, rather, they were all walking against us.
As evident in this situation, it is essential to always remain vigilant. Make sure to know your exits and entrances, and follow these steps provided by the University of Virginia: Run, hide, fight. Try everything you can to escape, and use fighting as a last resort; your life is on the line.
Before the chaos emerged, I had walked past a group of nuns with guns and scary Halloween masks. They were posing with a bald man, all pointing their fake guns at his head while he appeared to be in dramatic horror. I laughed at the sight, while my sister looked on in horror. I asked my sister to get a picture with them, thinking it would be funny to see, but my sister’s face turned sour as she replied, “Absolutely not.” Looking back now, the desensitization I had is awful to think back on and is something I am so jealous the past version of myself had, to find humor in something so objectively horrifying. Seconds after passing the group, we heard the shot go off.
I send all of my condolences to the victims of the families. I am truly sorry. I wish nothing but peace and safety to everyone affected.