MONTREAL (CP) - - It's just not natural, walking past someone who is bleeding like that.
Andrea Barone is back at school at Dawson College where he's known as an open, friendly sort, a good listener and easy talker, quick with a quip to lighten the mood. But at least once a day his disposition darkens just a hint, like a lone cloud passing on an otherwise sunny afternoon, when his mind wanders back to Sept. 13, 2006, when he watched as Anastasia De Sousa lay dying.
Whether he's lacing up the skates to officiate a hockey game, or driving along in his car, every day the moment pops into his head like a half-forgotten dream.
Sometimes Barone flashes back to the crack gunfire, the homicidal maniac in the black coat, or the bullet that smashed the leg of a friend standing nearby.
Sometimes it's the moment Kimveer Gill trains his gun on De Sousa, and pulls the trigger.
Often, it's after the shooting was over, when Barone steps over De Sousa as she bleeds heavily from the abdomen on the cafeteria floor.
Barone remembers hesitating for a moment and a cop yelling at him to keep moving, and so he moved on.
"It was like a war movie where the guy has to leave his buddy behind," Barone says of the moment he left De Sousa on the floor.
"When he shot her, your mind races. Do I create a distraction? Do I throw something?" Barone says.
"Then when I stepped over her, logically, you know you can't stop. You're moving, you can't go back. But it's instinct to want to go back. It's instinct. But obviously there was nothing we could do."
De Sousa was the only victim to die that day. Twenty were wounded. Gill killed himself.
On a sunny late summer day, just before heading back to class at Dawson, Barone sipped orange juice and cut into bacon and eggs at a Montreal greasy spoon.
"I don't get depressed about it like I did before Christmas," Barone says between bites. "But I think of it every day."
Next to him, one of his best friends, Chris Lomanno, raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't know that," Lomanno says quietly, taking a mental note to ask more often.
Barone is back at school, like the 13 Dawson students who were wounded in the shooting. The seven others who were injured were former students, staff and people just visiting, or passing by.
The wounded Dawson students have formed an informal support group, turning to one another to get through dark times.
Kaloyan Gueorguiev was shot in the head and arm and Katherine Mandilaras still has a bullet in her thigh that grinds away at the top of her knee.
On the front lawn of Dawson College, they talk about how they've come this far with the help of family and each other. Mandilaras is especially thankful for her boyfriend, Chionis Paraskevas, while Gueorguiev turns to his brother.
They both hate therapy. "You come out feeling more screwed up than going in," Gueorguiev says.
Gueorguiev is amazed at the sheer luck that led a bullet to glance off his brow rather than plow into his brain.
"I have a lot of guilt," says Gueorguiev. "I got the most minor injuries out of everybody. All these nice people got it so much worse than me.
"And I have guilt because I wish I could have gone down to the atrium and beat the living hell out of Kimveer Gill."
Mandilaras is friends with De Sousa's sister, Sarah. Mandilaras has her own survivor's guilt.
"When I look at (the family), I feel really horrible that I got to live and her sister had to die," Mandilaras says.
Mandilaras and Gueorguiev dread the anniversary ahead, but they will attend school that day and take part in private ceremonies.
"Students are anxious about next week, so I think, maybe if the people who got shot have the guts to show up, maybe it'll be easier for others," Gueorguiev says.
The seven survivors who are not Dawson students also seem to be healing, but in a less public way.
Leslie Markofsky, a student at Concordia University, was among the most seriously wounded. He lay in a coma after he was hit in the head with two bullets. He has called his survival a miracle.
He's well enough now to politely decline an email request for an interview. But he invites the reporter to stay in touch.
Joel Kornek, then a McGill University student who suffered bullet wounds to the chest, launched a website dedicated to helping others cope with depression.
On his Kill Thinking site, he describes in moving detail his struggle with pills, alcohol and suicidal thoughts.
His aim was to increase awareness, but he's clearly fed up with public attention.
"I sure as hell have no logical explanation for why I had to go through this shit," he writes in a message posted Sept. 5, asking reporters to stop calling.
Barone, Mandilaras and Gueorguiev seem to find solace in telling their stories.
"I just want people to know we're getting through this," Mandilaras says.
"We'll get through this."
