Posted: Tuesday, January 8, 2013 11:50:41 PM
“How could somebody do that?” Of course nobody could answer Tiffany’s question that day in our junior literature class. My classmates and I stared at the walls in silence mulling over the tragic deaths of Sandy Hook Elementary. That night on the news I saw the face of the shooter. He had a long face, bulging darting eyes, and thin lips pressed in a tight line. It was like he could see right through me.
I was disgusted. My initial thought was that he looked like a shooter. He struck me as the type who could hurt little children; however, the longer I stared at the picture the deeper I saw. Below the surface of a “school shooter”, the boy looked lonely. He looked like an outcast who was uncomfortable in his own skin. The news said he didn’t have any friends. Nobody probably even talked to him. What if someone had befriend him? Maybe December 14th, would have just been another mundane day full of crayons and recess for those children. Put yourself in the shooter’s shoes and maybe you can understand why he did the unfathomable. Perhaps then, in the future when you see a lonely face you will say hello.
Can you imagine living your life trapped behind a window looking in? It’s a sad thought. You would watch as the rest of the world chatted, heartily laughed, and pleasantly lived without you, while not even noticing your absence.
You are exiled because you were rejected. Nobody meets your gaze. Nobody strikes up a conversation with you. Nobody even bothers to learn your name. You’re like a wandering ghost. This rejection is like a bite whose venom furrows into your body eating until there nothing left except loneliness. There is no one there to see the pain in your eyes or hug you when they see your shoulders curled in defeat. There isn’t a friend in the world to pick you up when you have obviously fallen. If only somebody cared.
Beneath this loneliness is a brewing of hatred towards these people who think they are better than you. These are the happy people, who don’t feel the fraction of the pain, the depression, the loneliness that you carry on your shoulders every day. Maybe they should feel some of the pain you do. It would only be fair.
You can’t look at yourself in the mirror. You’re eyes are dark and pit less. You’re sickening. You don’t deserve to live, but before you go, you want something…
Emotions are raging: jealousy, anger, but underneath mostly sadness and longing. “If only” is buried beneath white fury. It’s the girl who turned you down. It’s the boys who snicker. It’s the pictures of yet another party you weren’t invited to. It’s everything that they have and you don’t. It’s the excuses to pull out a gun and shoot them.
Maybe then they will know your name.