When was the last time I saw a man die? It was yesterday, in fact, right in front of my eyes. His head was blown apart, point-blank range, and I was about twenty feet away, watching the violence unfold. It was cold and gray that morning, but nothing else about what happened was unusual. This is the reality now.
I rushed back inside with the groceries, locked the door, and barricaded it. Luckily, I work remotely, so I don’t have to leave home often. My wife was crying when I arrived, but that’s not unusual, either. I cry a lot now, too.
Who was the man who died? Who was the killer? I’m not sure, and I doubt I’ll ever find out. The bodies pile up on the street now, and no one bothers to solve the crimes. What’s left of police and emergency forces collect the corpses like they’re dead animals, not humans, and take them to the morgue.
We don’t have funerals anymore, either. Every day is a funeral, and it would be asking too much to grieve that way. I used to grieve, and I used to also believe in healing. Those days are gone. The only thing left is mass violence, death, and knowing that life will not get better anytime soon.
Check out my science fiction novella, Mother Portia, on Amazon Kindle
(Photo by Duncan Kidd on Unsplash)
