I was always told the brightest burn the quickest, that only the good die young. As if this is okay. As if this is the new normal. If they were good they wouldn't be lying 72 inches below our feet. They would be here -- beside us in class, on the field, in that band. If they were good death would have never been an option.
But hear me now. They were not good. They were Troubled.
To no fault of their own. Victim to a disease that creeps into every corner of a brain, that trembles into every nerve, and trickles down into every limb until they are Numb. -- the deprivation of sensation or feeling of hope, of living, of love, of purpose.
They felt nothing of worth and when you strip someone of their identity you leave nothing to hang on to except nooses tied around quivering necks and last words never heard.