My death won’t make Front Page News. TV shows
will not be interrupted to tell you
what happened to me, or why, and you will
go on with your day as if nothing of
any consequence had occurred. Because

I lived—and died—in Chicago, and since
I’m not from Sandy Hook, Boston—any
monumental place of gathering, my
home is always like a war zone; because
I didn’t visit the White House last week;
I’m not a pretty little girl with such
potential—you won’t hear of me or my

death. I die daily, and never cross your
mind. Time has taught me that mine is not
the reality you choose to see. My
mother’s is not the child you wish to save.

Designate days and colored ribbons to
the fallen from important tragedies
while we PTSD our ways to school
and church through abandoned playgrounds, pretend
shots and sirens aren’t newsworthy in
places where ours will never be the
Breaking Story. We understand your pain—

we live in it. Our hearts go out to you.


0 181

A.D. Carson


I'm just a little south of the Windy City...