This story is dedicated to all those souls who were taken from us too early through injustice, hate and violence. This is also dedicated to those who’s hearts and notebooks are filled with the silent echoes from the past. May these words grant us a minute of reprieve.
When I was born God gave me a pen. He said it had special ink. When I was old enough, the world gave me a notepad and then told me it was time to use the pen; however God gave me no instructions. So I started writing, and the pen worked. But not long enough. The ink would fade by the next day. I wrote about many things. about love. about fear. about the future. But my notepad was always blank by the morning. So I put it away.
I saw the name of a soul who was taken too early. It hurt to see this happen, so I decided to try the pen again. It bled this time, and I awoke the next day to find that my notebook was now real. Weeks later another name found it’s way into my book, then another. At first, these names were so important, because they were so few and the white space was so great. However, more and more began to appear, faster too. So quick that my hand began to hurt and the notebook started filling up. On occasion, I had to write many names at once and my fingers would go numb. Eventually I had a list of names that never disappeared.