moan-s
Source: moan-s
my blog will make you horny ;)
my blog will make you horny ;)
Dear Ma,I’m sure the news has reached you by now. I hearthe police cars outside, their deafening sirens awelcome change from the dead silence in theclassroom.I don’t think I will make it. It’s getting harder tobreathe and I am feeling drowsy. I wish you werehere. Fussing over me like you do when I hurtmyself. You’re probably outside the school gatesright now. I am hoping you can hear my thoughts.We were in English period when they stormed intothe class. It all happened so fast I didn’t havetime to think. They shot ma’am first. “Get underyour tables” she yelled before she fell to theground. We scrambled to hide under them.I sat still, my eyes on the floor as a pair of blackshoes got closer and closer. His shoes were a lotbigger than mine. I was too afraid to look at hisface. He shot me twice. One in each leg. I fell tothe floor in seconds. Ahmed who sat beside mescreamed when he saw the blood oozing out of mylegs. They shot him in the chest thrice. No onescreamed after that.I lay very still and pressed my eyes shut.Pretending to be dead as I waited to get shotagain. Each time I heard a gunshot, I would holdmy breath and wait for the pain. But they didn’tshoot me again. “We’re done here. Keep moving”someone said. Their footsteps ringing in my headlong after they were gone.I lay there, looking around the classroom. Thesilence interrupted only by the sound of the fan,that continued to spin as if nothing had happened.You know Ma, I realise that lives have no value.It makes me wonder why you insisted that I finishmy homework before school. Why you spent hoursteaching me geometry. Why you get angry when Ichew loudly. Doesn’t it seem like such a wastenow?To spend our time on petty things, likePotassium’s position in the periodic table, learningmy mother tongue, or remembering to be agentleman. None of it could save me.At dinner yesterday, you told me not to eat anotherjamun. That if I take care of my health, I would livea long life. Ma, it seems so ridiculous now, that wecelebrated my birthday last week. The cake, thepresents, my favourite caramel pudding. Like aprank we didn’t know we were falling for.In these 5 minutes I realised, that the world has noappreciation for beauty. For friendship. Forlaughter.It didn’t matter to them that Zara was to performfor us after class this afternoon. That Ahmed and Iplanned on buying ice-cream after school. ThatSamah was going to get the prize for being theScience topper. Everyone died anyway.You know ma, we invest in our lives with such arelentless passion, not once realising how fragile itis. You drive me to music class twice a week.Mark sums on my textbook for me to answer. Youtell me to remember to be polite, learn my lessonsand eat healthy.But ma, no one was spared. Not even the oneswho finished their breakfast. The ones who handedin their homework. Or the ones who prayed thismorning.Ma, I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.And I think I will breathe my last, lying on thisbattlefield of scattered bodies, shoes andstationery.My English textbook lies beside me on the floor.Still open on the same page it was at when theystormed in. I close my eyes one last time, becauseI cannot bear to look at it any longer.Seems almost absurd now, that a world like this,could inspire poetry.
- A note buried with a child victim of the Peshawar attack (via lamegrownup)
i can’t breathe
(via peachyplant)
Holy shit
(via verheug)
I’m crying over and over again when I read this.
(via f-reska)
