The room was red,
Red curtains, red chairs, red carpets.
I sat in the heavy silence, as I watched the play.
When the man burst on stage
I think I almost knew what he was going to say.
The President is dead.
All it took was one pull of the trigger and
BANG,
Everything he’d done, everything he’d accomplished,
Gone.
Everyone scattered about,
Running in every direction.
Shock diluting feelings.
Confusion.
Not sure what to do next,
Not sure what to think.
Screams, cries, moans.
None of those sounds came from me.
Instead I thought of freedom,
Freedom to do what I wanted.
Anything I wanted.
My mother on the brink of madness,
My father dead,
No one to stop me.
War or no war.
I hated myself for not crying, or screaming,
For not falling to the ground in despair like all the rest.
So I cried.
Not for my father,
For my selfish self.
For my freedom.