The smell of air conditioning and sales
Inundate the atmosphere.
The laughters and conversations of
Shoppers,
Heard from within bringing
Pleasantry
Along with children crying for
Attention.
Popular songs mixed in,
sharing a thrilling taste of
A nostalgic
Teenage adventure
Within the concrete arena.
Vibrant colors of clothing
Catch the eyes,
The latest fashion
Tantalizing,
Just a touch of
Soft silk cloth
Flows over fingertips.
Caressing the skin of
An expensive lover.
Screams of laughter
Transform into terror from the
Repetitive, macabre beat of ammunition.
Shells dance onto the floor,
Serving sorrow to sinless shoppers.
The stench of fear grips their hearts, while
Hard concrete slaps their faces.
Eight souls purloined before their time.
While those who can change laws,
Sing the same old song of
Thoughts and prayers
The cold dish of mourning for the
Eight.
They will forever be
Silent.
Erased.
Untouchable.
Flavorless in spirit.
Only the noisome odor of hate
Remains where they should have
Belonged.
About the Creator
Iris Harris
An aspiring novelist. I enjoy writing ghost, horror, and drama. Occassionally, I dabble with some essays. You can find more of my work with the link below:
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