The murder of Charlene Holmes ten days ago on a Cambridge street wears out our soul in the many ways that bitter tragedy has a knack for. She - youth and hope - is dead at 16 in a drive-by shooting.
Her killing debases the future and leaves but misery in its wake - her inalienable life ripped from her by a bullet that cost less than 50 cents to manufacture, her parents left but to grieve and grasp at what was, her friends only to wonder how such hope and promise, hers and theirs, could be robbed from them with such violent and bloody disdain.
And Thanailee Cotto Felix lies in critical condition in a hospital bed trying to recover from this same awful moment.
We think of them now and want the shooter caught. Reset the balance so weighted down by Wrong and Loss and Grief. Undo whatever will allow itself to be undone and mourn the rest. That is the all. Destructive violence is upon us so quickly when a handgun is to hand.