Brutal reality. This horror doesn’t require my review to explain it. It’s gut-wrenching. It makes me sick. Psychically. Like I’ve been punched. The little girl, fifth from the right. Her face. She’s petrified. It’s a howl. Look how they try to maintain order. Order amidst chaos. Hands on shoulders. March in order. Order? What order? Imagine in her little, simple, kid’s (once) safe world to be thrust into a horror that’s inconceivable to even the most experienced combat vet. And she’s a baby. An innocent child (not after this) who will be forever scarred, branded, contaminated. Her sense of safety gone. She’ll most certainly suffer nightmares. PTSD. She’ll never feel safe. Ever. Truly safe. Loud noises will scare her. Fourth of July. Firecrackers (by becky at testsforge). That sound will forever have a new meaning. She’ll need counseling. Plenty. Watch her grades drop. Watch for subtle clues as to problems. And it makes no sense. Then she learns of her friends who were killed. Why? Why not me? The simplest of survivor’s guilt. The most frequent question of the child: Why? There’s no answer this time. Certainly not from me.
And in the meantime. The left and right. Gun rights, gun control. MSDNC, Faux News. Sophistry as a spectator sport. Assault weapons. The media, video games. Security. Drugs and SSRIs. Mental illness. Notice. Second Amendment follies. A singular diarrhea spray of chat blather. Without surcease. Without reason.
On a lighter note. Everything’s lighter compared to this horror.