This week's massacre at the Sonora-Chihuahua border hits home. Not only because that's the region where I grew up, but also because, in spite of the presence of guns, I never saw this level of violence and horror, writes RafaelRomoCNN
It all happened so suddenly that I didn't have time to react. It was a loud bang, followed by screams and commotion. Then panic. Mothers yelled for their children and children cried out for their mothers. And there I was in the middle of the chaos: scared, confused and unable to move. What else could a seven-year-old boy do?
It was the first time I had heard a gunshot and, from my standing position in the middle of the dance floor, I could see the revolver too. Did the cowboy-looking man holding the gun mean to shoot it? I never found out. My parents had located me, and we were already heading for the exit. The party was over. I still remember the shattered tiles on the floor where the bullet hit. Also shattered forever was my sense of security, even though no one was injured.
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