Listening: No Surprises by Radiohead.
So the Madison Shooting happened. Me being me, I automatically searched it and have kept up-to-date with the news. What I was mostly looking for was the shooter’s identity, their name, face, social medias, music, possible writings. I found it, of course, like everyone else: Natalie “Samantha” Rupnow, fifteen years old, died by suicide. Surprisingly, the victims’ identities were harder to find, but they were released eventually: Erin Michelle West, the forty-two year old teacher, and Rubi Vergara, the fourteen year old student. I found the latter’s obituary; I left a candle; you should too — you don’t have to write anything, just show the family they aren’t alone.
It’s all very depressing, isn’t it? It’s over yet it’s not, because though I hope this is the last shooting ever, I know it isn’t. Now we wait. Who’s next? Where next? This time the shooter was a girl, but will the next one be a boy? Perhaps it’s not right to assume another shooting is inevitable, but in this country, it is.
I have so many feelings and thoughts about Sam, the shooter. I’ve written them in my physical journal, but I don’t think I can here. However, I will say that I empathize with her so much. I understand why she did it. I can feel it. Most people can’t — they haven’t been through the trauma — but I’ve been through it. Hell, I’ve wanted to do it! — I’m glad I didn’t.
Who will be the next Samantha? Where will they strike next? I don’t know, but I know it won’t be me and I hope it won’t be here.