Speechless. Just like that. Life ended. It had barely begun. A 13 year-old girl, sleeping in her grandmother’s house, with a single bullet through her head. Her sleep would turn from gentle slumbers to a nightmare. Did her spirit leave her body, leave her feeling no pain? The yard outside riddled with shell casings, my mind is riddled with questions. Why? How?
Captive. As I search for freedom in my life from everyday encumbrances, I realize that freedom from crime is something we will not know any time soon. As I embrace the simple joys in my life, I recognize that there are people embracing violence in search of a something I cannot name. The least offenders sit in cells, no longer able to partake in fun, while the worst offenders roam the streets, steal and sell the drugs, deliver the blows of death, as they are consumed with a thirst that can’t be quenched.
Names. The victims have names. The criminals have names. They each have been someone’s child. Some children lost to death, others simply lost. Speak. Communicate with your children. Let them know love. Hold them accountable.
Drugs. We punish those who smoke something that cannot be bottled. We write prescriptions for and glorify in songs that which will forever take hold. Pockets are full. Some with money, some with drugs. Both create appetites never satisfied.
Answers. When greedy men and women take responsibility. When children are no longer exposed to the ‘benefits’ of drugs. When people stop judging long enough to care. Perhaps then things will change.
Casia. She has a name. Victims are not only the dead. We who live remain victims and captives, until we demand freedom.