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The Countdown
The news reaches my ears
tentacles twisting my reality. Not
quite a boy
in one minute morphed
into the reaper
Bang
A mother’s affectionate eyes
grow dull, regret loosens the trigger
of the boy barely holding on as screams
tear through the air. Hatred bringing
up the Hasta once more.
Bang
A sister’s outstretched hand
falls limp in a pool of crimson ichor, black metal
clatters on the tile, the boy
frantic, wishing for the rewind
on an unfamiliar remote
A family turned into a math
equation. Two ripped from five, only he wishes
they were just numbers on a page
The boy is no longer inside himself
only one subtracted from three.
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This is about a domestic shooting that happened in my home town.