I have been sitting here in silence.
Silence broken by birds chirping, dogs barking and this loud bursting of fireworks going off in my head. Behind the veil of gray matter, beauty and terror reside, a couple at cross-hairs. One chillingly silent in the presence of the other’s fevered shouting.
I was only away three days. Out on Friday, back on Monday. Time Traveling via Delta Airlines. The world I flew away from is the not the world to which I returned.
Or maybe it is exactly the same.
And that, that right there is bothering me.
Your dead kids don’t trump my Constitutional rights, said the man whose legacy is one only the misguided would aspire to.
Children are dead.
And nothing changes.
Locked and loaded, Elliot Rodger lived out his vision, gleefully, triumphantly.
So what is there left to say?
What argument will persuade when the sight of children lying in bloodied heaps doesn’t dissuade?
How many bullet-ridden children will be enough, cries the father of one, the one dead now.
The answer, of course, explodes all around us.
All of them.
The price for this so-called freedom is children rendered dead, past and present and those yet-to-be slaughtered.
So I sit in silence.
The children whose names I know only through the headlines reporting their last moments
Huddled in a classroom
Fleeing to a darkened bathroom
Crawling through a convenience store aisle.
And I am left to wonder about the next child fated to die at the hands of a killer whose right to bear arms trumps
The sanity in us all.
It is foolish to argue with fools.
The only thing that changes are the names of the children and the shooter who slayed them.
Karen Spears Zacharias is author of Mother of Rain (Mercer University Press).