Screaming

So I come home from church, and I sit down to watch the game, and some guy down the street starts screaming.

I’m trying to hear the game, but he’s screaming, and then some woman is screaming, and a bunch of kids start screaming too.

And there’s some gunshots, and explosions, and somebody else starts screaming.

I close the windows and turn up the TV, but it doesn’t drown out the whistle of mortar shells, and the crack of assault rifles, and some guy screaming that he’s on fire, or that his wife is dead.

And then—I swear to god—the network interrupts the game to show live news of the attack. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t stick my head out the window to see for myself. If I wanted to watch it I could open the front door and walk outside.

I just want to watch the game.

So finally they go back to the game, but that guy down the street is still screaming, and bombs are still falling, and all that other noise.

I wish they’d hurry up and kill that bastard, so I can have some peace.