Wednesday, February 14, 2018, 12:00 pm
The intercom cracks over the PA, “Happy Valentines Day, students,” says
a booming voice. “May cupid strike your heart today.”
2:19 pm
Nikolas Cruz’s footsteps slam the ground
A 223-caliber AR-15-style rifle in a soft case by his side
With a clear trajectory down the familiar hall, he marches
like a stolid robot, with one job
To kill
He throws open the door, 20 eyes point directly at him, then at his gun.
BAM
one is dead.
their faces become ghosts
petrified, plan-less, pain filled
2:24
The fire alarm is pulled down
The discord of a wailing siren is followed by a procession
They disperse and he shoots
BAM
another dead
petrified screams,
covering,
BAM
another
BAM
a teacher protecting his students
2:26 pm
The intercom crackles over the PA. The once booming voice trembles,“We have an active
shooter. Take cover now. May nothing strike you.”
2:33 pm
He races
Students run, they are
thrashing and
fighting and
sobbing and
trying
trying to play an unwinnable game of hide
and go seek
BAM
a boy accepted into his dream college
BAM
another
BAM
Flung
across the ground from a bullet’s strike
3:00 pm
The intercom crackles over the PA, “I repeat the school is on lockdown.
Ambulances are
stationed in the front. The police are here. Stay under cover.”
3:40 pm
BAM
another dies from blood loss
BAM
another in the hospital hours later,
BAM,
BAM,
BAM,
a final.
Thursday, February 15th 2018, 6:00 am
Nikolas Cruz is charged for seventeen counts of premeditated murder
seventeen lives done
seventeen families
seventeen innocent dreamers
slaughtered.
Nikolas makes his first court appearance in Broward County via a jail video. He says nothing
except to confirm his name.
How shall I leave?
To another plane
To possibly be reborn into something new
How should I make this journey?
To carve it as my own
And maybe rise to the top and never stop
How does this world spin?
Does it spin around money?
Maybe love?
Perhaps hate?
We ask questions
Many every single day
Whether or not they are out loud
The answer to every single one of those questions
May be silent
Because change never
Stops
Our minds remain lost
In a forest of wonder
In a unique state
Until one day…
We are found
¡Mamá! I shouted. It was so wonderful to see
someone familiar again.
The guards, white as abuela’s
mejillas, Stared at me as I ran
down The hallway of the
enclosure.
I saw my mamá and papá,
Tears in their eyes, We
sprinted towards each other,
As though we were
maratonistas Breaking
through the ribbon,At the
finish line.
Earlier this year, We had decided to go to
the land of the Gringos, Live the American
Dream – el Sueño Americano.
But mamá and papá were taken from
me – No, I was taken from them.
All of a sudden I felt these hands around me, As
though my abuelito was hugging me, His warm
chubby hands holding me As the smell of pan
dulce – sweet bread, engulfed us both.
But something was different about those hands,
They hurt.
I looked behind me and saw a man, half
hombre half toro.
I tried to pull away to no avail – And
screamed, “Mamá, papá
ayúdenme”
Suddenly memories flashed through my head The
tortillas we used to make together, The time we spent
looking at the sunset, at my favorite playa And the
smell of my abuelitos… And then the memories
disappeared.
It occurs to me now that I won’t be there
anymore, Under the sol mexicano, Laughing
and eating tamales with my cousins, Tíos,
tías, abuelos, abuelas, and other relatives.
And now I might never even fulfill the
so-called Sueño Americano.
A letter in the mail
Is all I have
8 years of love
And
friendship
The memories
and the bonds
We will never forget
The photographs
And letters
on my wall
Flipping from the trampoline
Into the pool
The laughter
And experiences
We no longer
have
But the love
We still
Feel
My childhood
I will never
Get back
But I still
cling onto
With memories
And the letters
Signed
With love, From NC
It’s the muscles
in your face,
in her face,
in his face.
In each of our faces.
That change everything.
A simple contraction,
that lights up someone’s day.
Changes the mood,
of our fragile lives.
We are weak.
Each single person,
Alone.
But it’s our kindness,
our way of showing that we care.
That gives support.
Gives someone a sense of relief.
A moment of peace,
trust,
hope.
That we all deserve.
It is a beautiful smile, t
hat saves us.
Hope is irrelevant, a dashed streak of scarlet
That crisscrosses the souls of scapegoats.
Just like the peace before the storm,
It lingers around its victims;
An anesthetic before the inevitable.
Like a shepherd struggling to control his flock,
Iscariot sends it away with a kiss.
Swept away like dust under the scrutiny of the legionnaires
And a blatant travesty in the name of love
That wipes their slate clean for God’s eyes to see.
It is of the Fountain,
Reborn within every human.
It is Janus, immortal only in the eyes of creatures
For it is transcended by nothing but darkness,
Resigned to drifting through the void of space.
A girl named June sat in her room
Wanting a better computer
She worried ‘bout wins, and her new roblox wings
Things like ponies, they meant nothing to her.
Her parents knew
She cared not for shoes,
Or dolls, hair brushes or new makeup hues
All it seemed she wanted to do
Was play games,
and she won at them too
She killed dragons in minecraft, as she fell through the days
And played fortnite for hours as she wasted away
She’d get money from wins,
And buy all the skins
But she always just seemed to want more
Her parents tried to stop this fool,
They made lots and lots and lots of rules,
But every time they would try to make rules
She’d answer “thank you kanye, very cool”,
And they tried and tried, rule after rule
But just never seemed to get through
She wasn’t too keen on much but TV
She’d sit for hours and hours
Watching Spongebob and Gary
While she drank her Sprite cranberry
Wasting and wasting away
She began skipping school
And breaking the rules,
Just to stay home and play one more game
And all the doctors they went to, they tried and tried in vain
For not a single one could set upon to tame the young girl’s brain
Her doctor, he wanted to ask her why she’d started to vape,
She turned to him, with a sly little grin
And said “They did surgery on a grape”
The doctors knew what had happened too,
They tried and tried to get it through
The parents did not want to see
To let it through their heads
That they didn’t have a little girl, but a teenage boy instead.
Let them be as tranquil, placid ponds.
Always still, calm,
quietly dignified
but never changing.
I’d rather be an ocean on a stormy day,
tumultuous and in flux, like the universe we live in.
Our world does not stop,
does not pause
to take a breath.
Why should I try to be any different?
To have been alone
with nothing else but the windy,
storm-grey sky,
rising and falling
as gusts blow back and forth.
To be respected, not as consistent or serene
or even wise but as dynamic, a thing of energy.
A blustery sea.
I’d rather be unconstrained and abrupt,
and if then puzzling
or even alienating
to those who encounter me,
then to be calm and agreeable, the placid pond
where tranquility is guaranteed,
but change and the power to act is not.