My parents’ cat came into the house with a baby rabbit hanging from his mouth. I didn’t see it’s face but I felt it’s fear in the way it’s legs dangled. I went to sleep with that fear and woke up to my mom laundering the rug and talking about a crunching sound.
So it’s fear was born and died, digested down into the bile of whispers and cleaning up the mess.
When fear lives out it’s whims so capriciously, innocence dies, and when something dies it should be solemnly reveled in until catharsis is reached.
Innocence is being killed every day. Here is one catharsis.