One hundred and fifty.
That’s how many times I heard people utter it in the days following Jace Daniels murder.
“Nothing ever happens here.”
Mrs. Daniels let it escape between her fingers while she sobbed. News cameras panned the puffy eyes surrounding her but they gave nothing away.
My father slammed his fist on the table while yelling it to the wind. This new threat in his sleepy town sent his blood pressure soaring.
“God damn it! Nothing ever happens here!”
The fibers stitching our small high school together, always loose and frayed, seemed to become a quilted masterpiece overnight.
“We can’t let this divide us!” The principal clutched the microphone, prepared to impassion.
Candle light vigils. Twenty-four hour news cycles.
Everyone seemed to forget that town was made to swallow souls.
On day three I received my college acceptance letter.
Quietly, I stuffed my bloodied clothes in the fire pit.