And death.

We were discussing about the haunted and scary and, being one with least guts in the group, just the mention of it freaks me out.

I saw a post called ‘No Seconds’, the one where last meals of convicts were photographed and somewhat collaged. They are, were, murderers, rapists, buglars, but yet the portrayal of their last meals got me thinking: aren’t they people too? This just further humanises them, throw in their family, their hobbies, their childhood, what are we doing, killing them out of punishment, of hate?

The old lady a few houses away just passed away. I never knew her. Only occassional greetings now and then. I miss her. I used to touch her plants when no one was looking and for the next five seconds be intrigued by its feel, its growth, her care.

But I guess I won’t always miss her. Heck, I barely knew her. Replaceable, we are all replaceable.

Lethal injection suddenly doesn’t seem as heartless as killing what once was as innocent as a newborn.