The Wounded Poet

Chapter 5: Connection

As Samantha grew up, she began to learn the things a normal kid should. The shapes, the colors, basic manners, basic words, basic grammar, sentences, etcetera. But there was still so much that she had to learn. She discovered a lot of things through experience. But there were some topics that she shouldn't have learned at such a young age. It crushes the soul, knowing that you can't unlearn it. It crushes the soul in such a way that it reforms it into a sculpture; the ice breaking away to form new cliffs.

It was a Tuesday. Samantha never woke up at five, but there was a loud sound from downstairs. It was a loud gasp. George woke up. Then, the muffled sound of frantic footsteps rushing down the stairs.

Samantha got out of bed and opened the door. Erin and George probably heard the door open, but what they were doing was tons more important. She looked down through the slit of the stairs and had a view downstairs in the living room. It was something she had never seen before. However, it was nothing Erin and George had ever seen before. The world had never seen it before.

On the TV was a tall beacon, smoke billowing from the troubled sky. The camera is focused on it, but there is a small shake in the way the camera zooms in. It shows the raging fire killing the gentle giant, and the smoke killing the solace of the blue sky. September wept for the world of fire that it has witnessed. Everyone begins to point fingers at life's unbridled extremism; her gambling addiction, her love of playing with everyone's lives, of shifting logic and plausibility, and of betting the fragility of nature, has accounted for her rap sheet.

Then the camera zooms out. Suddenly, a white arrow pierces the nine o'clock air, disturbing the East breeze. Then, the catalyst of tragedy perforates the second beacon. A cloud of orange growls its stone-cold message of fear to the public as it takes and takes and takes the irreplaceable treasures of all functioning societies. The towers of happiness and peace have been ruptured by adversaries in front of its fervent believers. There's screaming. Not just on the television, but at home. Erin was screaming as George stared in disbelief. That disbelief would force tears to come out.

Samantha got closer to the blaring television screen; the only light slaying the darkness of the night. She saw the smoke pile up from the second tower, compounding into a trail hovering over the East River, travelling south to boast about its terror and success to the New Jersyans. It's an act of horror, and Samantha understood it. When she saw the screen, the orange and red of the flames had met her blue eyes and snapped its teeth to force her to submit. She recognized the screams. She knew that somewhere, there was terror, crying, somberness, and unity. She was only four years old, and had an understanding nobody at her age should have.

George turned around and noticed Samantha. He had tears in his eyes, speechless, thinking about how he could express what he felt to Samantha. He wanted to reassure her that everything was okay. He wanted her to know that this wasn't normal. He wanted her to know that most people are good people that want to help and care for everyone.

"Samantha," George said as he came over to her. "What are you doing up?"

"What's that?" Samantha asked, pointing at the television.

Now the challenge has arrived. George was faced with the dilemma of how to soften the blow. A lot of Samantha's innocence died under Frank and Mary, so he chose to try and preserve as what little innocence he could.

"It's too early, Sam," George said. "Let's get you to bed. I'll even read a bedtime story just for you."

"Bad?" Samantha asked. "What's that? Is bad?"

Erin intervened.

"Sam," Erin said as she cried. "Listen to your father."

"Yes, Sam," George answered. "It's bad."