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"All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Message to Readers

This is just a compilation of what was going through my mind after the Paris Attacks -- wasn't ready to share before. Very dear to my heart. #PeaceforParis

An Inhuman Evil: Paris: 11/13/15

November 27, 2015


People were dying. 
Although I could hear the gunshot or see the bullet wizzing through the air,
I knew that in some way I had been shot.
That the tears that fell down my face tried to find and protect the wound,
but the amount of emotion shook me beyond any measure of control.
I did not suffer,
as my sisters at the restraunts with friends around the city were fired on, and placed in critical condition,
as my brothers waiting in a bar to go watch the soccer game were rocked by an explosion
as my cousins, and parents, and siblings, lay for ten excruiating minutes, 
while the masked men shot into the crowd at random
and killed tens of people with no discrimmination. 

What kind of world allows for this evil to exist? 

This war, not being fought voluntarily by the Parisans,
 calls for attackers with no regard for human life on the front lines,
whose tanks are violence, and machine guns terror,
funded by the collective fear those all around the world,
 who view all innocents as soldiers that are necessary casualties in the pursuit of a greater scheme.
But as the glass lay on the ground, long since shattered    
and the tarps covered up what we cannot bear to see
An arm sticks outfrom our faulty facade, and
forces us to once again acknowledge the way the hand had just been reaching in greeting,
raising a glass to it's lips,
and holding it's head in it's hands, taking for granted this everyday occurrence of life. 
A luxury that they can no longer know.

Sitting in the backseat of the car in silence at the grocery store parking lot, 
listening to news an ocean away, 
I see the shoppers pouring out with their bags full of self involvement, 
carrying home to their families the trivial problems that they won't remember in a month,
let a lone a year, 
talking and
with smiles on their faces in the midst of all this tragedy that they are unware of. 
And yet, the hundreds affected by this terror, have lost loved ones
that could have easily been the little girl coming out of the store, 
or the mother talking on phone as she pushes the cart over to her trunk. 
Because the fear that it could happen to us,
to me,
is exactly the point of all of this terror, that feeds these beings who can
be called anything but people. 

What kind of a world
allows this
to exist?

As I stared in horror at the television screen, quaking,
held in the arms of my family, under the gentle lights of the house
and enveloped in the warm, soft blanket of security and those closest to me,
I was safe. 
And people were dying. 


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  • November 27, 2015 - 9:17pm (Now Viewing)

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