Fellow writers, tell me you know what I mean: sometimes when tragedy strikes, it is like we are INSTANTLY SUCKED into the pysche of those involved, or specifically: those who caused the tragedy. We need details. We start to invent and figure out Why; we try and understand. Like: the Moscow subway bombings. They’re supposing that one of the bombers was this sweet baby faced 17 year old, pictured below with her husband – who was killed by Russian police in December, 2009.
No need to suppose or invent her trigger, her motivation. There always seems to be something emotional going on at the core of these attacks, as opposed to something just philosophical or conviction-based. Like the guy who tried to blow up the Michigan flight – he felt left out and rejected and lonely as a kid, and into his adulthood – and needed something to stand behind / believe in.
I have no idea where I am going with this. Just – things. Observations and some sadness. Just ‘oh, people’ and ‘oh, This World.’