Bang of a Gun, Whistle of a Bullet

Prologue:

I'm sorry...

There is no other way of saying that. I can't imagine what you were going through. All I know is that I wasn't able to help nor was I willing. I saw you getting bullied and I didn't even try to stop it.

I look at the tear-stained paper in front of me. Why am I writing this? Why am I putting myself through this torture? I try to remember that I am so lucky and fortunate to be alive,  but it seems at times that I would be better off dead.

It sounds horrible,  but sometimes I wish that I was shot and killed just so I didn't have to deal with the after effects of the shooting. It's only been two weeks and it feels like it has been fourty years.

In just three days I am going to have to deliver a speech in front of all the parents and family members that no longer have their son or daughter. I am still not sure what made me accept the offer to speak at the funeral, but I regret the decision more and more each day.

I look back at the letter. It doesn't sound right. Nothing sounds right. Nothing will ever sound right. I rip the paper out of my journal, crumple it up, and throw it on the ground. My bedroom floor is becoming a sea of crumpled up tear-stained letters. Before I know it I am crying again. They are selfish tears, but I don't care. It feels good to cry.

About thirty minutes pass and my mom knocks on my door, she tells me that the reporter is downstairs and is ready for me. I have spoken to what feels like five hundered reporters in the last two weeks and although they all ask the same questions, it never gets any easier. I always end up in tears.

I tell my mother okay and a few minutes later I head downstairs. The reporter has the same wierd, sympathetic smile that every other reporter does. only this time the smile's on a man.

The man introduces himself with a firm handshake as Daniel Waye and tells me that he is pleased to meet me and that he feels honored to talk to me. Nothing new. Same shit, different day.

We sit down in my living room and he goes through the questions he is going to ask. when he goes through them all he asks me if there are any problems with the questions and I said no, and then he told me something that really hit me; he said: "the more we see, the more we want to close our eyes."

After being stunned by the power of that quote he asked if I was ready and I said yes. But I knew that this was going to be the most painful and heartbreaking interview yet; and there was no way in hell that I was ready for it.