Sunday, November 21, 2004

the remains of the play

We are fledgling children of passing latter days – actors of improvisation unable to cope with the realities of the play.

Suicide call last night. A high-school kid shot himself in the chest and phoned his recent ex-girlfriend to tell her that he was dying.

It was a nightmare. We arrived to absolute pandemonium. Family and friends were arriving to the scene in droves. Hysterically distraught would be an understatement. It almost came to blows with perceived gang-bangers as we were being blamed for not getting there in time.

The worst part was when the mother arrived. She asked us if her son was alright. We could not answer her and she saw it in our faces. Her poor boy was sitting in the unforgiving dirt yard with a bullet thru his torso and a small puppy dog licking his face as if to wipe him clean of his final thought. Tears were welling up in my eyes for her as she ran the gamut of emotions.

Take notice you would be self-assassins. Your pain is distributed a thousand-fold to your loved ones.