This is something I wrote reflecting on the shooting in Newtown, Conneticcut. My heart goes out to them.
My hands pound harder on the door, the blood making squishing sounds as I slam harder and harder. My child is in there. I scream, my voice hoarse. It doesn't matter that I have other children, she is my child—my Rue.
I scream for her until they silence me with a heavy hand. I fall to the ground, dirt puffing up and stinging my cuts. I sob into the dirt, my chest heaving and my whole body aching. I'm losing her. Losing her to some insane man.
What is this world coming to?
I pull myself together, I lay against my husband—and we watch through the cruel impersonal screen as our daughter appears again. This is the last times we will see her. We just have to watch on the screen.
She's not guilty, she has done nothing wrong. And she is slipping away. I scream for her as it pierces her skin. I fall to my knees crying, impowerless to reach her. My life for hers! What wouldn't I give to be in her place to stop her pain?
But I am powerless against these cruel citizens who think it fun or right to kill little children. They have stolen her from me, stolen all of future, stolen her last moments from me.
It's not enough that they have killed her, even if it's not by their own hands, the have to take her last moments from me. I want to give up, I want to give in…I want to make them pay…but I need to be here for my other children.
All I can do is suffer in silence, suffer alone. The girl sings to her and puts flowers in her hair. A smile bird flaps it's wing and takes up the tune flying up to the highest branch.
My Rue….be free my Rue.