One August Morning

Somehow the gunfire each year reiterates this fact to me. I don’t understand the noise, at first I don’t even recognise the sound. It seems so harsh, so deadly. Its not one of the sounds I grew up with or became used to. Police cars, yes, shouting, yes, children playing, yes, but gunfire, no.
I roll over, away from my perfect view hoping to close my eyes and extinguish the sound, to shut it down, like dropping a heavy stage curtain. But the finality of the act, the impact I know the cartridges will have, keeps my mind flooded with a phosphorous light. I cannot doze.

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