The air is spliced by the deafening sound of anger, hate and rage.
We erupt in movement, our thoughts singular, our hearts united, as we clean the blood soaked streets.
We call, we confirm, we asses, all the while churning thoughts of hope, courage and strength through our weary minds.
It is all so easy really.
It is all so natural.
I wait for the lines to clear and dial methodically.
The voices answer, one after the other, in subdued tones laced with deadly assertions.
I pick up my daughter from gan and hold her hand tight, willing our bodies to mold back into one so I can protect her.
She wants to skip.
I tear myself from her in tired resignation.
I marvel at how well we all manage, this nation of souls trudging along this savage destiny.
Traces of lives forever changed are washed away by little green trucks fitted with brushes.
It is already over.
We move on.
We live on.
I am not moved much…and that…moves me…