I wasn't even there...
I wasn't even there but I can hear the shots being fired... I can smell the blood... I can feel the life leaving my body. It easily could have been my partner, my mother, my friends, my co-workers who never heard from me again. But I wasn't even there.
I try to go on with my day, but it feels like I'm just going through the motions. It's like I'm just a shell. My mind races and hops from here to there. With every person I pass, I wonder if they hate me. What I am.. Who I am.. Are you going to kill me? Are you going to pull a string and blow up in front of me at the gas station when all I wanted was a soda and a hotdog? What are the chances?
This is no isolated incident. This happens all over the world, all the time, and it has for centuries. Culture by culture, we are killing each other off. All in the name of... who exactly? Gods? Deities? Dollars?
But we don't think about that. We think about work, and new cars, and satin sheets, and appliances. We measure our worth by what neighborhood we can afford to live in and how many inches our TVs are... because that's what matters. That's what is important.
After all, that kind of thing doesn't happen here. That's elsewhere. Across the oceans, in a land far, far away. It almost sounds like a fairy tale doesn't it? But it's not. This is real. They are real. We are real... and we are dying.
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