Privacy statement issued in a time of need. Please save the last chapter for me to read aloud as my children cry in their beds with the bombs falling around them. They choke on the dust and radiation that fills the air. It’s thick like blood out there, in here. We can not see the indecisions brought before us. Time to laugh away your everyday worries to look at the huge one that confronts us now. Face toward the mass of dying. Their color, our color are separated, yet are one in the same. Divided we die, only to see blood spatters falling on us and hear the cries of the innocence dying. Hearing people mumble in their last breath their prayers, asking for forgiveness. They are wishing that their remaining are well and not in the same situation as they are, knowing deep down that they are probably laying next to them or even on top of them. The reality is that you will never live to see another day of sunshine again. Never to hold a love one close. Never to see your children grow into responsible adults or even see your grandchildren. Life is black. Death is black. In blackness we lay with doom hanging overhead. War is upon us. How to deal with the fact I am dead. Nothing to help me along. Help them, help me. Save the dream of being human from being destroyed.
In the air, is our savior, our last hope. Will they let us down or will they kill us? How do you deal with the fact everyone you know is dead? In an eye blink, fate was lost.
I die, you die, we all die miserable deaths. The rancid perfume of flesh lingers on, in the air. Deafening airstrikes destroy your job, your home, your family. No one can save you. You are forgotten, lost in the legal mumble jumbo, buried in bureaucratic red tape. I might as well kill myself and my family. It could only be less painful for my eyes to see them die in my own hands rather than raped and destroyed by THEM. Deny me the knowledge/privilege of knowing who my murderer is. Show yourself to me so I burn an imprint of this moment on your soul for eternity. When you wake in the night, sweating, panting hard you’ll know exactly why. I hope that you feel guilty knowing that you kill an innocent man, woman, child.
Dedicated to the memory of those who have lost their lives in Kosovo. May someone be with us all.
note: This week's column is pretty unique, it went through four drafts. Usually the first draft is the way it runs.
3-23b is the first draft of 3-23a but with a new twist. New terms added, others taken out. Also, it includes the secret, not intended to run, ending. I wrote something at the end and it mistakingly made it to print. Oops!