We Are Coming For You

"One of these days the ground will drop out from beneath your feet. One of these days your heart will stop and play its final beat. One of these days their bombs will drop and silence everything. But it's all right."

We are all lost and insecure. I'm trying to guard myself. I've built a wall that would put you to shame. But it's being attacked. I don't know who I am anymore or who you are. Where were you? My mother has fallen. We have all fallen. My father is crumbling. So tough, so firm. I look upon him and see the only good parts of them, the parts I have been lucky enough to inherit. But he has lost his strength because of that which destroys the other half of us now: the sick, vile excuses for human beings that an absent Creator has thrust upon us all. Is this a test? I thought we had passed it once already. Why, why, why? Why would you throw this upon those that need protection? The innocent and the young?

"Easy for you to say. Your heart has never been broken; your pride has never been stolen. Not yet. One of these days, I bet you heart'll be broken. I bet your pride'll be stolen."

I have guarded that child with all my might. I would take a bullet for her. I have taken a bullet for her. I would lie to her face to protect her from that harsh truth. I have lied to her. I would hold her as she cried, as we both cried. I would hide my tears from her youthful eyes, so blue and wide, and smile. I would ensure her that everything is just fine, when it most definitely is not. I have done this. And where were you?

"One of these days your heart will stop and play its final beat. But it's all right. Don't say it's all right!"

I've been broken but I have rebuilt myself, stronger than ever. He is breaking through the weakest points in my wall. As a friend. The best friend I have ever had. He has spoken the words that my mind will not let myself say aloud. And where were you? I have always loved you, and I always will. But you are distant. I am distant. If I ever see that man again, I will eviscerate him, more or less metaphorically. There is good and there is evil. I have had the misfortune of encountering both. But there is more. There is good, there is decency, there is bad, there is evil. Right beneath the latter is worthlessness. Vile. Despicable. Unspeakable. And that is where he lies. When my thoughts drift towards him, I become associated with the evil stratum. One should never underestimate the creative mind of a teenage girl who has held a sobbing child in her arms. A child that has been defiled beyond words. One should never underestimate the violent abilities of someone who has had to become a woman in two days for those just a year younger than her. One should never underestimate the bitterness that proceeds the act of tearing up a picture of filth to prevent her from seeing it, of throwing a wedding dress down a garbage chute, of packing up a little girl's life in an insubstantial suitcase. No. One should never.

"Come away little lamb, come away to the slaughter..."