I am become death, the destroyer of worlds
- Bhagavad Gita
Mixing death with laughter, strolling corridors with trenchcoats flapping wildly, boy and boy gone mad, a tiny mob, just two, just two against the world they thought unjust, a world turned upside down with bullets, screams, and fear, with begging, sobbing, hating, dying. Bullied now are bullies; bullies now the victims, taunted now with actions past, with slights imagined, slights intended, cruel remarks that pained the hearers more than sayers could imagine, outcasts then, pariahs – eating cold revenge with relish. Power held by powerless, guns and bombs and fear of death that humble those who humbled you, temptations far too strong for loners dressed in ebon trenchcoats, longing to belong, but long denied, temptations too for copycats in other schools, other days. Hide the guns? Some will find them. Stop the hatred, killing all the haters? Will we then be haters? Are we then much better? If it comes, salvation must arrive in tiny, tiny steps, in random acts of kindness, friendly smiles, a gentle touch, civil deeds and soothing words.
Written June 1999 by David L Brungart - © Copyright