Don’t let the memory of brutality fade…take the anger and transform it into something other than noise
Right now, I feel sick. Both as a mother and as a woman. I have a lump in my throat that refuses to go away. Intermittently, the tears come and go. I don’t know whether they are tears of sadness or anger. One number keeps echoing in my head. 6 years old. Just 6 years old. “She was only 6 years old,” you sickos, I want to scream!