I was clean. I had a good reputation. I was enjoyed by all kinds of people. I was a favorite destination. Now, people only speak of me in hushed tones, like a dirty secret. People stopt coming. Soon I was closed and now sit empty. I miss those former days, the liveliness of it all, the fun people had. I don’t know what will happen next. Will I even still exist?
The terms: “worst mass shooting,” “teenagers dead,” “dreadful catastrophe,” “awful shame,” “a waste of young lives,” and similar, are now said with my name.
My parking lot was full of vehicles with flashing lights of various colors: red, blue, white. They came with sirens on, the left with sirens on. I’d never witnessed such activity before. Then the regular vehicles, or most of them, slowly left. The others left over the next few days.
They could never get my floor clean. They never turned my lights fully on again. Now, words are spoken such as: abandoned, demolition, removal, clear the site.
Over the music, on that night, came loud explosions. At first, most people didn’t notice, they were having so much fun. It’s when the screaming began that everyone stopt. The explosions continued. There was more screaming, more bodies falling, more blood.
Words were shouted: “the right to bear arms,” “second amendment,” “conceal and carry,” “revenge,” among others.
It was the worst night, and the last night, of my life.