Thoughts and Prayers Will Flow
They Will Flow
Preceded by silence. Or hustle-bustle. Or music or worship or celebration of State.
Next, there's a click. A breath. A mad expulsion of flame and metal and hatred of Life.
If it's a school. Or a store. Or a club where we dance and celebrate self and love and identity of Us.
Still the click. The rage. The efficient and engineered and indiscriminate delivery of Death.
Call them rounds. Or shells. Or call them sharps or grendels or spectres or legends of Lead.
They're the bullets. The ammo. The harbingers of anger and selfishness and desire of Infamy.
This time, a parade. With kids. And Mom's and Dad's and Heroes who'd rather preserve drawing of Breath.
Now wagons will circle. Around machines. Machines designed for killing and maiming and rending of Flesh.
Don't blame guns. They're innocent. Blame the women or liberals or wokeness or distortions of Self.
The solution is there. It's easy. No new laws or ideas or restrictions or expressions of Sense.
We will all just get on our knees. And let the Thoughts and Prayers Flow.
Like the blood, they will flow.
They will flow.
Guess I'll go teach my kids that.
About the Creator
Noel T. Cumberland
Noel T. Cumberland is always looking for the bizarre twist in everything he writes. He is published on the Scarlet Leaf Review, and Flash Fiction Magazine. He lives in Tucson with his wife, two sons, a cat, and the occasional loaner dog.
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Comments (1)
This definitely captures the horror and the hopelessness.