My innocence died when I was a boy, and saw my father punch my mother in the face the second time. My sorrow was born when the prettiest girl in high school couldn’t live with the shame of three football players having raped her, so she took an entire bottle of sleeping pills one night, and never woke up. My rage ignited in college, when the only girl I ever loved got shot by a guy with a gun because she wouldn’t sleep with him.
I saw the violence in life as I grew up.
I see the violence in life now.
Now, I answer that violence.
I have no name. I’m officially, legally dead. I can show you where I’m buried. Mother cried as they buried me.
I am Armor 17, one of many. An invisible, lawless, untraceable weapon. I am the violence, and these are my stories.
Another story I pieced together for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare, Week 108. Time to let a hidden demon out of me. Please read the other entries in this week’s Visual Dare challenge. Be amazed at the magic people can put into 150 words or less.