On Tuesday, I watched a woman die

On Tuesday I watched a woman die.

Then I watched her die again. And again.

She died once for a repressive government.

Once for the power of the media in the people's hands.

Once to show the world these things.

And a thousand times on grainy film her eyes stared out and her nose and throat filled with blood to show me and others like me what we shouldn't let others see.

I didn't know, when I first watched it. Injury I can take. Injury I can see. The warm seas inside us don't scare me.

But they told me while I watched she had evacuated her body. The last process had been completed. I had seen her soul fly, and I wasn't paying attention. I wasn't paying to save everyone else from it either.

Again and again I watched the red flower, the sticky drowning from inside, the stare, the despair, the too-long raw footage and the closing of eyes that didn't close the story.

Again and again I made her die for me. And I didn't learn.