My Sweet Butterfly

SOMEONE ONCE TOLD ME that angry kids who shoot people don’t go over too well with most respectable folks.  We are not all that sympathetic; we’re just so full of hate, is what they say as they dismiss our opinions without further consideration.  But hear me out as I can assure you that in my case there was a reason for it all, even if it might not seem readily apparent at first. 

            Part of the problem, of course, is that the people who need to hear this the most will want to hear it the least; they’ll want to block it all out, ignore it, think about something else that makes them feel good instead of all the real problems they should be focused on. 

            First in that category are the really prissy people – the type who are offended at the slightest little thing.  You know who you are: the kind of person who thinks that everything is perfect, it’s a wonderful life, and all that nonsense.  Yet, underneath it all you are really scared to death because you know that the world isn’t perfect, even though you might want it to be.  Just look around.  It’s everywhere if you really know what to look for.  Everyone is so pissed off at each other, all the time.  And that scares the daylights out of you.

            Second, there are the bad ass people – or, better put, the people who think they are bad ass – the kind who walk around with a chip on their shoulder thinking they are completely above it all and that the rest of the world is just plain stupid.  If you are like that and you think you’re so tough that you don’t need to listen to me or to anybody else, you might want to think again because that’s exactly how I used to be until all this happened, until my life changed.  And now I know that no matter how tough you might think you are – how untouchable and invincible you might seem – there is something out there that can always break you down and beat you up, destroy you.  Maybe you just haven’t run into it yet or are just too blind to see it staring you in the face.

            Even so, there is little any of us can really do about what took place my senior year of high school when I shot those three people.