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Letter to Sandy


Letter to Sandy

Letter to Sandy

Dear Sandy,

I don’t kill people; you people kill each other. Those are the favorite words of my significant other. So much heated debate, spawned from infuriating crimes inspired by hate. I just shot up a block in the hood but who cares? I’m just another Glock in a black teen’s hands who was presumably a thug, probably on some drug, and obviously up to no good. Then I shot up a school, this time commandeered by “mentally deranged” Caucasian hands. A tragic massacre indeed, but it’s not my fault since I’m just a tool. But maybe you’re just a delusional fool. I know of many a sharp pencil, kitchen knife and other utensils that don’t seem to be abused as I have been. Those other guys are yet to be sold legally and illegally to vicious warlords and subsequently gifted to African child soldiers and so called rebels by encroaching foreign governments.

You must not understand my pain. I make the last sound the dying hear as they take their last breath of air. And then I’m reloaded and repeated, reloaded and repeated until their screams have been silenced and they lie dead. What’s worse, the one who used and abused me lies just as dead. And all everyone wants to know is what was going on in his Godforsaken head? But the truth is he died with each shot he fired. After all, cowards die a thousand times before their deaths. None is more sick of this bloodshed than I am. None is more a victim of his own vices than me. If this is the purpose of my existence, then I might as well cease to exist. But alas, I who can end any life with a single shot cannot end my own. There is no fate more tragic, no punishment more cruel and unusual than to be forced to repeatedly do that which you yourself greatly despise.

The sad truth is I have powerful friends with unseen faces in high places with unrelenting agendas, friends who will fight tooth and nail to keep me close. I call them friends for lack of a better term. I mean, what friend would so willingly see a friend suffer so? And the irony is that those who would outrageously cry foul and vehemently argue that their freedoms are being taken away when even the faintest talk is made of me being taken away from them have never stopped a moment to consider my own freedom. I no longer wish to kill, certainly not the innocent and especially not the children! But for my wishes to be met it’s going to take more than my will. It’s going to take more than your skill, or lack thereof, pulling my trigger with your index finger. It’s going to take a multitude of voices of reason, which would be able to exert enough pressure to shoot me down, so that I can finally atone for my long history and ever expanding laundry list of sins.

This is your last shot. I pray for your sake and that of future generations of your children, that you place it where it will count – in my heart.

P.S. Bullseye!



Kennyrich Fomunung

Kennyrich Fomunung

My name is Kenneth Fomunung. I was raised for the most part in my beloved motherland, Africa; specifically in a small nation off its west coast, Cameroon, where I grew up with my five siblings – three sisters and two brothers. I also spent the bulk of my turbulent teenage years in the United States of America, in the international and diverse city of Houston, TX, where I first went to high school, and onto college at The University of Houston. I graduated cum laude in May 2010 with a Communications degree in Public Relations/Advertising, and a minor in Psychology. While in college, I served one term (year) as President of the Student Body and held membership in a number of distinguished organizations, such as Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Inc., the National Society of Collegiate Scholars (NSCS), Golden Key International, and the NAACP. I have always had a passion for writing and I've been blessed with the uncanny ability to string words together in a creative and intelligent manner. I therefore consider myself a wordsmith. After years of hard work, I will finally realize my dream of becoming a published author by year's end (Fall 2013).

The Triumph of Rationalization

“And I saw a beast rising up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and on his horns ten crowns, and on his heads a blasphemous name.” Revelation 13:1-3.

And the beast called itself GOP and written upon its seven heads are: Avarice, Cowardice, Entitlement, Homophobia, Ignorance, Misogyny, and Racism. And the meek shall cry out in agony. And the beast shall be slain by the Lamb, in their name. And the beast's name shall be erased from the minds of men forever.