TLDR : I survived the Norway's 2011 shootings, my sister and best friend did not. I was shot in my back and shoulder that day. Not a sob karma-farming story.

Hello,

Adrian back here. 

That day, I remember rain was POURING outside, and there was dark clouds in the sky. I am not going to lie, it was pretty depressing and I was in a bad mood. I never liked rainy days. My sister Ruth was also annoying me, because one of her friend had a crush on me and I was not going to give her the time of the day. Anyway, that day, we started with a visit from the renowned politician Gro Harlem Brundtland, then we attended a seminar on experiences with the right wing party of the Swedish Government. It was pretty interesting, for people who are into those things. I remember the person talking in front of us asking if we had any comments after they were done, but nobody was listening to him anymore. We all were looking at our cellphones, because we had received an alert of a terrorist attack in Oslo. It didn't take long for everyone around us to start talking. Many of us had parents working in the building that was targeted. The camp leaders told us to calm down and gather in the main room, which was already filling with people. At that point, anxiety was growing around. I made my way towards my county's delegation, where one of my friends told me that a bomb had exploded. I told him to stop messing around, don't joke with things like that. A bomb in Norway ? That doesn't happen. Not in Norway ! 

Then Eskil Pedersen, the leader of the AUF, arranging the camp, walked on the podium to explain what had happened. My friend was right. A bomb had exploded. Mr. Pedersen advised us to call our families and told us the camp program was cancelled for the day. I remember him trying to reassure us, telling us not to worry and we were safe there. We all wanted to believe that, we DID believe that. We were on our own island, what could potentially go wrong ? We were supposed to meet again at 8 PM that day, but, evidently, it never happened. My sister and I made our way to our tent. At that point the rain had stopped, but the clouds over the fjord and the island were still menacing. Luckily, I was able to reach my parents. Ruth was extremely worried at that point. My mom told us they were fine, not to worry about a thing, to stay safe where we were. She then asked me to speak to my sister.

So as my sister was showing relief by hearing our mom's voice, a sudden loud pop was heard. None of us reacted. Someone thought it was a kid making a sick joke with firecrackers to scare people. We were all confused. Ruth had lowered the phone and stopped talking, I could hear my mom asking what was going on. Simultaneously, what had happened is : Anders Behring Breivik had managed to single-handedly blow up part of the executive government quarter of Norway before heading to our island disguised as a police officer, presenting himself as Martin Nielsen. I was 16 year old (soon to turn 17) and was not supposed to attend the camp that year due to personal reasons, but Mrs Bøsei (Monica, for close people) had managed to convince me and my sister to go back for what would be my 2nd year in a row and my sister's first time.That is part of the reason I went back, because my sister wanted desperately to attend. It really was a special opportunity... before Anders. After hearing from the bombing in Oslo, Monica was extremely worried and had arranged for the ferry trips to be cancelled. But as crazy as he was, Anders Behring Breivik was also clever and managed to fool her. Monica was a very intuitive woman and extremely protective of her kids on the island, so it's unsure what they said to each other but she got suspicious and went right away to get the security guard, Mr. Berntsen. That's when he shot them both dead.

We were looking at the forest separating the dock area from the camp, some of us had started making their ways to investigate what was happening. They didn't make it very far. We heard another shot, dozen of people started screaming and running EVERYWHERE. Into the tents, through the camp, into buildings. Ironically, my best friend Thomas was just telling me that if the Oslo bombings were political, we weren't safe there either. Ruth had grabbed my arm, asking me what the hell was going on. I didn't know myself. Then, we saw what looked like the devil wearing black, wearing a police uniform, emerge from the woods. He was tall and very calm. A kid had frozen, not far from him, too close to him. This is when I saw, for the first time in my life, someone die. He raised his gun and shot the kid in the head, point blank. I could not understand, why was a police officer shooting at us ?

Some people who had not seen what had just happened started gathering around him, believing he truly was a police officer. Anders had made multiple kids gather around him, before he started shooting them one by one. A boy, who couldn't be more than 11 year old, also saw his dad shot to death. Monica's husband and daughter were also on the island and saw her being executed. That's when I saw a girl, a boy, another girl fall to the ground with every shots being fired. The last thing I heard my mom say before Ruth dropped the phone and I grabbed her hand to start running was ''Å gud. Ikke babyene mine.'' (Oh god, not my babies !)

We ran in the woods, near the cliff sides, where people were already making their way down. Thomas was right behind me, I could hear his breath and he was making terrified noises. Ruth was in tears. I felt physically ill at what I had just saw, like my body wanted to reject everything that was happening and simply shut down. Then I heard the killer scream ''Come out you Marxists, you're going to die today''. He was WAY too close from us. Thomas was right behind us when he was shot dead, he did not stand a chance at all. Everything in my body wanted to stop and help him, but I could not. Stopping would have meant putting my sister in the crossfires. I had to protect Ruth, it was my duty as her big brother. I had promised my parents to look after her. But then, I was shot in my shoulder and fell to the ground. I'll never forget the smell, a mix of dirt, grass and smoke. Yes smoke. That is the very second I let go of my sister and we got separated. I heard her scream my name, I looked at her and told her to get the hell out of here.I heard her run away, I heard the shooter's footstep right next to me, before he shot me in my back again. I laid there playing dead. I don't know how long I laid there, I must have passed out a few times, because when I woke up I could hear the sirens of the police cars on the mainland. So close, yet so far away. I thought I was dying, but then I heard my mom's voice again, screaming ''not my babies !''. I could not die, I had to help Ruth. I was able to drag myself to a group of kids who I THOUGHT were playing dead, but they were actually gone. I saw my sister's blue sweatshirt in the pile of bodies and I instantly knew. Ruth was gone.

I passed out again and woke up in the hospital, a few days later. I was lucky enough that the bullets had missed my spine, but my sister and my best friend were dead. And that's all that mattered to me. 

11 years later, I am now finally off antidepressants and learning to love life again. I'm learning to forgive myself for letting go of my sister's hand, one day at a time. I doubt my father will ever forgive me for the death of Ruth. In his eyes, I failed his daughter. But, in my eyes, life is worth living, and I choose to live.

That's what Monica, Ruth and Thomas would've wanted me to do.

P.s : Feel free to ask if you have any questions.