Pink Mist

Pink Mist

Pink mist. Is that what we're waiting for? The screams have to be silent to reach our ears. The shot, an explosion instead...the gunman, a bomber instead. Bombs...Americans love bombs.

He'll come into the school with a backpack just like the others. He'll have a history, a scowl in his eyes. But instead of a warning shot to get them into submission, instead of a slaughter, instead of a rampage, he'll be a ghost. He will simply set the time, walk out and watch the mist rise.

Then maybe we won't have people saying things like, "the students should have charged him." Maybe we won't analyze the boys' illness just for the sake of the media, a deflection from what we're not doing.

Maybe we won't hear, "guns don't kill people."

Maybe all we will hear is a nation unanimously saying,"let's do something, really do something."

I'm sorry for the children this will hurt, the future parents, the supportive teachers. I'm sorry we don't care enough, that we're all numb, content, when we see the words *School Shooting*. I'm sorry that we'll have to see everything annihilated, everything we could blame, until we can see we are the problem. But maybe when that bomb goes off and the pink mist of the bodies rise we'll be able to see it, really see this mess for what it is.

Sadly our apologies can only be told to the rubble.