Every killing of every human is a story and a life that was, that is and was to be. It was a heartbeat that stopped before its time. It was a dream that disappeared abruptly like a television set that suddenly lost its power.
It was a young woman who ate her last meal; it was not her favorite dish, but she did not want to upset her mother for cooking it. “Next time make pizza mom,”
she yelled… then she yelled her last cry. It was a wife who did not know that her husband’s last look into her eyes would be imprinted as her eternal memory of him.