My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.


I'm at a loss.

I got out of the shower this morning to find my husband reading the front page of the paper, something he doesn't usually do quite this studiously. Most days, he'll scan the headlines, check to make sure nobody he knows was gunned down in their home over night. You know, just a basic checking in with the universe. Most days, all is well.

With an odd expression on his face, he handed the paper to me so that I could read this.

Holy God.

Like I said, I'm at a loss here. Murder happens every day, especially in my hometown. But, not always like this. It's never been anyone I knew before. Really KNEW knew.

The youngest girl, Ruby, was Dusty's most favorite friend at her Beloved Pre-School. We haven't seen much of her since the closing party in August. She wasn't able to come to Dusty's birthday party last month.

How on earth do you tell a child her friend has died? In such a horrific way? Along with her older sister and parents? I've decided you don't. This might be yellow of me but I don't care. If Dusty had ended up at the same preschool Ruby moved to and they'd seen each other every day, then I'd really be up shit's creek. But, since we haven't seen Ruby in months, I'm going to wait.

I don't know what to do. How does the deaths of acquaintances become about me? About everyone else but them? Got any ideas? Fucking new year.


8:58 a.m. ::
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