On that third day, the town woke to the local news being flooded with a note. There were no voices, only a note. And one picture. Of Michelle, before she was murdered.
To those who ask, “Why does it matter?” Would you think differently if she was your daughter? Your sister? Your parent? The person you love? Would it matter if it was your best friend?
The truth is, you say murdering people not like you doesn’t matter. But in the past few weeks, you’ve seen, and experienced, what it means when those around you, someone you know, someone you care for, someone you love, is shot dead before your eyes.
It’s murder, isn’t it. It’s not about “us and them”. It’s not about, “good and evil”, or “Christian and heathen.” It’s about people. Remember that. Always.
I’ll be watching. If things change for the better. I won’t be back. If they don’t, this will happen again. And again. And again. If necessary, I can do this until everyone is dead.
There, I ended the note. There was no need to say more. I knew this was only the beginning. After all, I’d answered violence with violence. And violence breeds. Those who hated Michelle, and other transgender people? Their hatred had grown. To them, this had become a war. They would respond accordingly.
I shrugged. “Bring it, people. After all. I am the violence.”
And, it’s over. Turns out, this is the last part of the Armor 17 story. It’s Week 341 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.