I need some travel.

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Rightful slaughter

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Where do we find ourselves at, defending how many school shootings there have been in 2018? What is there to defend? Isn't one shot fired, just one incident, enough? Isn't the compilation of the many murdered and injured enough to matter? Are we defending our guns or the zealous right to carry them wherever and whenever and into every space we can?  No one wants to take your gun away, not even Obama did, who it was sworn up and down would come like a thief into your homes at night to do. I see the words "agenda" and "they" and "our right" thrown around as the blood dries from the murdered children.  Children that parents sent to school, children that had a right to get through the day. People that had a right to go to a festival without being gunned down by a shooter shooting out a hotel window. Small babies in Sandy Hook, slain on their classroom floors as we shook in horror at the scene. Columbine, where I'll always think of video games...
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The Bargain Hunter , where my column appears, is undergoing website changes. For now, my columns will be posted here:  There’s grace somewhere in the octaves between high-pitched and emergency, where I could hear the timbre of my voice and know that I was one step away from madness. This chaos lies in the line of crooked bangs cut with a dull hair scissors, no longer able to brush them away from the brown eyes of a child you love with such fierceness and agony. She would look at me, taunting, hugging me before she ran from me to do the things that would make my throat quiver. She would get up from her bed twenty-nine times in an evening, her Aladdin nightgown swinging as she descended from the stairs, and nothing I did would make her stay. There’s grace allowed somewhere in that madness. I remember rocking my baby in a rocker that several of our family had bought us for our wedding. The curves of it embraced us, and the nursery was warm with forced air from the furnace...
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Shaun Cassidy, Kenny Rogers, and my worn-out speakers

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