Living in a North American city, we're so far removed from the ugliness of death. Not the gentle kind of death that visits the elderly in their sleep, but death at the hands of the most brutal and violent incarnation of the Grim Reaper.
Looking at photographs from modern day wars, untouched, unedited photographs that were preceded by "Warning: the graphic nature of these images may disturb some viewers."
I saw a headless baby. I saw a torso - not a body, but a torso. I saw intestines spewing out of a corpse like some old Stephen King story. I saw people missing fingers and hands and arms and toes and feet and legs. And I saw fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs, minus the people.
I read the reports of people who were there, and they gave me names and histories to attach to the people whose bodies were ripped apart. I wept, and I couldn't help it.
The images will give me nightmares, but I can't and I won't look away. I wasn't there, and I feel guilty that I wasn't there. I feel guilty that I am safe, and I would give up my own too-comfortable life if it meant that no other baby would have his or her head blown off.
As I've said before, this world is a twisted, sick, messed up place.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment