Boston

Laughter rippled through us as we congregated in the middle of the room before rehearsals. Our director was on his computer, but we paid him no mind. Not until he walked over to the hardly used television screen. Our attention slowly turned to the new channel and shock rippled through us, and before anyone was consciously aware of it, we had all moved to stand around the screen. It was chaos on screen, and the words hit us like a tidal wave.

“What’s happening?” She asked me in a soft whisper. I didn’t even hear her come in.

“The Boston marathon was just bombed,” I told her. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the screen, but I could hear her gasp of surprise. Tears evaded my vision, and I could hear the quiet whimpers of a few other people.

“Oh God, my uncle lives in Boston,” A voice said in a hoarse whisper. The sound of fabric moving signaled that people had started comforting each other, consoling those whose family was near the explosion.

Clearing my throat, I turned to leave the room as a tear rolled down my cheek. I hadn’t lost anyone, but the pain in the classroom was practically malleable. Just the thought of how many people had died- where dying- shocked me to the core. How could someone do that? How could someone be so cruel? What the hell kind of world did we live in?

I didn’t understand- I still don’t- how one person could harbor so much hatred, and take it out on innocent people.