Musings of Seung-Hoi Cho (Translated from Afrikaans)
by Aron Hyman, 2009.
The world made me sick.
Too much for one person, one child born in the wrong time, in the wrong century in the wrong world. Too much hate hidden behind catty grins. Too much love that too few people get. Too much heartache that so many endure and only I see. Violence is cherished by politicians and parents. Too many girls who walk around with flat tummy's without their virginities. Too many boys have too many hormones and too much steroids and creatine which makes their ego's dangerously large. Too much pride and too much money. Billions, burningly- no, scorchingly poor in a warmed sick mother earth being raped by a few filthy-ungodly rich. Dictators and presidents have too many diamonds and too many guns and children.
If I could just with this gun and the bullets therein offer a way out to a few people then I'll do it, because it would be selfish to not give them this. Their eyes are weak, but I was the shepherd in the night that observed the wolf and I saw the injustice was on it's way to devour us all. How long would it have taken the blind to realise that there was no justice? They who shuffle around in useless in the darkness are nightblinded by the nature of the darkness itself.
No exit is given to the weak who are bullied and abused. Yes, I will think of you today when I write a very sad message to the world. I am sorry that you did not want to listen earlier or that you could not see, because maybe then I would not have had to do this. If you could see the beast growling on the periphery of your psyche, maybe then you could stop me.
Don't scream when I shoot, because rest assured, no-one will ever tease you again about what you look like or where you come from. They won't be able to, because where I send you only your soul matters. Maybe.
Don't scream when I shoot, because you are part of the sacrifice that has to be made so other's eyes can open.
Don't scream when I shoot, because believe me you don't want to be here when we fall through the thin ice.
It is all too much. Too much for me. Too much and too sad. Too few who care. Too few are saved and delivered.
Don't scream when you put the gun to your head. You were the brave one. You wrote with each drop of blood a picture to the world. They will always remember you as the messenger who exposed the beast in the light.
How will they ever be able to forget you?