In pace requiescat

The shadowy hue of an April morn, cast a blank shroud upon these solemn walls,
The dedication upon which these stone bricks bring, the excellence of academics it promises
A reflection of the young and old, who through the years have thronged through these halls, and envisaged the attainment of knowledge, of fortune this knowledge will bring. For it took pain and anguish to attain, to achieve it took pride, pride in oneself and the age old code, of which all recite at the back of their hand.
Of history, this tale will tell – not of promise as one would perceive. But of death and anguish it will say, this is the plot this tale will tell.
A raging madness, a yearning for revenge, embedded in one single mind, his thoughts possessed. That death must come to all who live – upon the code which this world stands. For the sight of this world brings in him – the feel of seething rage and revenge. Upon which no act can come to past, but death, only death will be the answer.

Anger personifies a humanoid, for three quick rounds the clock hand weaves. The weapons – the articles of destruction, embellished with a tart and a rancor of rage.

The fumes of death arise, above the age old walls which stand. The perfection of excellence with it, as a silent clam overcomes the heinous site. Of grief, we will tell, of grief, we know. That tomorrow, will be a different day. For the same cheery faces we see, they are gone. For the sweet smiles that enlighten each brutish day, they are past. For our existence, it seems vulnerable. The whispers of “it could have been us” hushes through the walls, a silent fear what tomorrow will bring. There is one who stands afraid, for she knows not what will happen to her kind. There is another who stands astounded, a hero himself to have fought rage’s work, but he too is confused. There is this individual who captured it all, but he too seeks solace from the scene.

So what can be told of this tragic tale, but it’s victims of which we mourn. All 33 of them .

No sorrow can replace their lost; no grief would bring them back.
But only the realization of those beautiful moments, their young lives have touched or would have effected. For it is this promise which we will keep, the promise of life which they have been robbed, which now each of us possess, to live a better life, a better life in their memory, a better life for us all.

To the fallen 33, In pace requiescat.