Murder to Middle School
Deep Dives
Explore related topics with these Wikipedia articles, rewritten for enjoyable reading:
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Panic disorder
1 min read
The author describes experiencing her first panic attack upon returning to school after trauma - understanding the clinical nature of panic attacks and how they manifest, especially in trauma survivors, provides crucial context for her experience
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Childhood trauma
12 min read
This memoir centers on witnessing extreme violence at age 13 and its lasting effects - understanding how childhood trauma affects development, memory formation, and long-term psychological outcomes illuminates the author's experience of wearing a 'cool, calm facade' for 20 years
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Survivor guilt
11 min read
The author expresses regret about her impatience that day and wonders why the attacker targeted her father instead of others - survivor guilt is a well-documented psychological phenomenon that helps explain these recurring thoughts
It’s not hard to see why Laura Green-Russell’s story stood out as the grand prize winner in our first-ever Narratively Memoir Prize. This riveting read immediately captured our attention when Laura submitted it back in 2022. This Friday at 3pm ET, Laura will join us at Narratively Academy for a special live conversation on How 3 Writers Penned Narratively Memoir-Prize Winning Essays. If you’re thinking about submitting to this year’s Memoir Prize and need some inspiration, give Laura’s story a read (or listen by clicking play above), and join us on Friday.
Who thought it was a good idea to send me back to school? Was it even discussed? Was it just to keep things moving forward, as if nothing had happened at all? I lived in a small town. I had gone to school with the same 40 kids since the second grade and everyone knew everyone else’s business. It was no secret what I had been through just two weeks earlier. I knew I’d be walking through the halls with a neon sign over my head reading, “It’s me, the girl you heard about on the news.” It was all hushed whispers and turned backs, like they didn’t know me anymore, like they hadn’t known me since I was 7 years old. Even among the kids I used to call friends, I felt so alone.
I pushed the heavy metal doors open, hot from the early morning sun, and made my way toward homeroom. My heart was thumping out of my chest, but I retained the cool, calm facade that I would wear for the next 20 years. The teacher was Mr. Nichols, an old white man with thinning hair wisping across his head. He’d never really liked me, and the feeling was mutual. I had seen him degrade a student; she had walked up to ask him a question and her spiral notebook caught his sweater. He immediately got angry and said in a venomous tone: “What are you doing? Look what you did!” I was shocked by the way he’d exploded at her, and ever since then I hadn’t liked him one bit.
I made my way to a desk next to Kelly, the only person I felt comfortable sitting by. Tall, with dark brown hair and a perfect sprinkle of freckles spreading across her nose and cheeks, she had
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