Boston

The thing I just can’t stop thinking about is that somewhere out there is a guy who is almost as surprised as we are about how many people were injured and how many people died and what their names are and what brought them to be there at that particular moment and which family members and friends and strangers were almost there, but five minutes too early or five minutes too late.

And that guy is delighted.

Each new bit of information is, for him, a great somewhat-expected gift.

It’s hard for me to express how angry that makes me. People should die of old age or cancer or, my god, if they have to be murdered, it should be by someone who targeted them, not just because they weren’t five minutes earlier or five minutes later, because they didn’t duck into a building to use the restroom at the right moment.

It’s the Death Lottery aspect of it that pisses me off. Well, no, we all have our ticket and don’t know when our number will be called. It’s the rigging of the Death Lottery, the taking glee in being as surprised by who came up as the rest of us are horrified–that fills me with rage.

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2 thoughts on “Boston

  1. I’ve never seen the appeal of anarchy. Or of being a loathesome bastard who hurts people for kicks.

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