...is often my favorite read in the blogosphere. Or anywhere. So, frequently, I read the day's 'Bleat' out loud to my wife. I read this one to her, about a family flying on their way to Disney, on 9/11, without reading it myself first. It's, ummm, kinda dark. It ends:
Little Christine was Gnat’s age, give or take a month; bin Laden’s lackeys killed her - and did so to ensure that other fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters died as well, preferably by the tens of thousands. This little girl’s death wasn’t even a comma in the manifesto they hoped to write. They made sure that her last moments alive were filled with horror and blood, screams and fear; they made sure that the last thing she saw was the desperate faces of her parents, insisting that everything was okay, we’re going to see Mickey, holding out a favorite toy with numb hands, making up a happy lie. And then she was fire and then she was ash.
I feel the same anger I did on 9/11; I feel the same overwhelming grief. Nothing in my heart has changed, and God forbid it ever does.
'Gnat' is Lilek's nickname for his daughter. Read the whole thing yourself.
:: Walter 8:28 PM [+] ::