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  • I woke up to see that while I slept, a bomb had gone off in a crowd of people in Boston. Within five minutes I saw pictures of bloody people screaming, women dragging themselves on the ground in shock, and a young man with his lower legs blown off. I saw his femur and his skin hanging like red ribbons. I've never seen anything like that before.

    I imagine being that young man, going out to an event, being part of a massive group of people who are all feeling electrified about the same thing. Maybe he was cheering and feeling happy. Or maybe he had gotten bored and was thinking about leaving soon, thinking about all the every day things he had to do today, get groceries at the store, pick up some toilet paper, get his photos developed, call his mother…ordinary things people do on ordinary days. Then, all of a sudden, the ripping of space and time. Concussion. He can't hear, he can't see because oddly enough there's smoke in the air, and how strange is that, where did all that smoke come from? And why am I on the ground? And why do I feel funny? And then he sees the blood, hears the screaming, and he looks down…

    This can't be real, he thinks. This can't be happening.

    But it did happen, and I'm looking at this picture of him that feels so vicious and shocking and something too big happens in my heart, something sharp, and I want to cry but I can't, for the bigness of it. But one single tear sits swollen on the edge of my lower eyelid, and when it drops, it will be for him.
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