By Elizabeth Callaghan
Seeing all the dead bodies
Leaning against the shudders
Mutilated beyond any recognition
Scorned to the bitterest ends of society
Taunted and tormented
By those who had wreaked the havoc
They stared unmercifully
At the one left standing
With no bodily wounds
No injuries
But so much more
So much sadness
And so much scorn
So many dreams shattered
As the world around him dissolved
In that one instant
Of brutal murder
Of killing
Of pleasure
The ones watching laugh
They holler and hoot
As they see the bloody revenge they have taken
The revenge for everything they never had
For the love they never knew
For the hate they were forced to carry
And now they throw their heads back
And send out a loud
Pitiless guffaw
They scorn the one survivor
To the bitterest end of society
The one they know so well
Brings the survivor
To his knees
Wanting to beg
But not able to give up his pride
Looking into their eyes
He expects at least one speck of pity
But cannot find
Among the thousands
Even a drop of it
For the rest of his life
He will be the scorned
On the bitterest end of society
Waiting
Just waiting
For the one day
He may be made whole again
And being the survivor
Holds so much pain
That they will never appreciate
Even though they know it all too well
They laugh
Every time he passes
They point
Their crooked little fingers
And tell everyone
How wonderful it is
Not to be on the bitterest end of society