The stale taste of recycled air.

Nothing can get rid of the looming feeling of death and its cold and open arms.

My school newspaper's editor-in-cheif and friend Nancy Miller was violently taken from her life January 31, 2008 by a man who had nothing in mind but typical murder and gluttony. I can't help but feel an empty void typing this blog knowing it probably contains grammatical misappropriations and punctuation errors that can only be corrected by her delicate expertise. Her warm, 'Southern-belle' sense of humor and often contagious smile will never be replaced and it leaves me to wonder about the flawed adequacies of our civil legal systems.

What can I do to cleanse this world of its filthy injustices? A thousand memories and a handful of guilt can't bring her back to our world. This pain surrounding me proves fruitless in tonight's attempt to remember her. The marks she made on journalism, life and losses in general are unapproachable, compared to her colleagues.

Let her elegant memories play on like a symphony. Let these disgusting signs of society's collapse show all that we are in peril. We cannot change all that has passed; but all that approaches is fully avoidable.

I would love nothing more than to open a drawer filled with the sharpest knives and grab the closest one I could find; only to use it with revenge and futile ignorance (if it did not prove me any less ignorant than the clueless imbecile that inflicted this morbid plague upon us.)

John