Where did the bullet come from?
Its instant zang whipped through the air and into our backs. Our learned Kevlar vests were not enough to stop its entry. No distance was wide enough to shake it, no movement was abrupt enough to dodge it. It was honed in: skillfully aimed, skillfully shot.
Where did the ambulance come from?
Its response rate was thrilling. We were ferried away, patched, released. But the sniper still roams, estranged in the heart. We forever fear foreign rooftops.
Where did the fear come from?
Society's puss, and the awful experience. Society's plague, and its awful contagion. Society's feces, and the contented exploited. Society's somnambulance, and the sleeping brains.
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