AUTHOR: Lin

DATE: June 24, 2001

CATEGORY: CJ POV

DISCLAIMER: The West Wing and its respective characters belong to Aaron
Sorkin, NBC, et. al. No copyright infringement intended.

FEEDBACK: much loved and greatly appreciated

ARCHIVE: Let me know, otherwise at [http://greensblues.topcities.com]

SUMMARY: A senseless, violent place without reason, filled with the cries
of the dead and the victims without justice.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you're sensitive to the tragedy in Houston earlier this
week, Susan Smith, or a host of other things that have happened around this
country, including Oklahoma City, do not read this. It will upset you and
that really isn't my intention. This was inspired by Kat's story, "State
Sanctioned." Thanks for reading over it, Kat.

State of Mind
by Lin


Five.

The echoes of five cries play through my mind in a seemingly endless melody.
And my head bounces to the beat of the tuneless cries. Back and forth, over
and over again until my head is heavy with the repetitive motion.

And I want to cry, but I can't.

So I sigh and close my eyes so I don't have to look at the world we've
created. A senseless, violent place without reason, filled with the cries
of the dead and the victims without justice. And I realize I can't
understand. The enormity of the situation will never impact me fully until
I am a mother but after today, I'm not so sure I want to be. It turns you
into something more than you were before. Sometimes good and sometimes bad
but it changes you, that I can be sure of.

And I don't know if I can rise to the occasion.

How did this world become so thoughtless? A breeding ground for evil? Was
it there all this time and we just never noticed? Have we fallen to our
knees in the face of the wicked? But I don't want to understand the acts
that betrayed the face of the innocent. I don't want to know what goes
through that person's mind when they decide it's better to hurt someone. I
don't want to have to look into the black corners of my heart to see if I am
capable of doing such a thing because the truth is, I don't know.

And that scares me.

I should be able to control my emotions. I shouldn't tear up when I hear of
another death. I should be able to shrug it off and thank God that it
wasn't me. But that's not the stuff I'm made of. I'm supposed to be made
of steel with a back of iron that won't bend to the will of a few. I'm
supposed to stand strong, nary a movement in the wind of adversity. But
here I am, a willow, quaking through the hurricane, afraid I will be swept
away in its ferociousness.

Some are desperate and some are wicked. Trying to divine what goes through
their minds is too much for me. But I still clutch the phone in my hand, my
eyes glued to a television screen as it shows the model of suburbia. Except
five police cars stand outside the door with a roll of yellow tape cordoning
off its entrance way. There is a gaggle of reporters clamoring on the lawn
trying to get a better view.

I can't explain what happened in a home in Houston, Texas. My mind refuses
to acknowledge the concept. I can't explain South Carolina, Oklahoma City,
Atlanta, Georgia, or the hundreds of other places in America where tragedy
has touched with its cold fingers. And I'm not going to try.

I'm going to do what I have been trained to do. I'll glean the facts from
the sources, report them to the hungry press, and answer the questions to
the best of my ability.

And in between those times, I'll try not to let the thoughts bother me.
I'll try not to think of what goes through their minds or their victims.
I'll sit behind my desk and brush away any tears that threaten to fall and
I'll straighten my back so they can't push it down when the glass shatters
over my head. I'll try not to let the bad thoughts run through my head
because that's the only way I know how to survive.

-the end.-