illogical_reality
The l33t One
I don't know if you guys have been keeping up with the news. I don't even know if half of you pray. But, if you do, please keep the Carter family in your prayers.
For those of you who don't know by now, I live in Smalltown, America. My graduating class consisted of 96 students in 2001. My town is one of those where everyone knows everyone and when tragedy strikes, it tends to affect all of us.
Friday night, Devon Carter received a phone call from his father, Dennis Sr. Mr. Dennis and Ms. Donna got a divorce a few years ago because of spousal abuse. I went to high school with their oldest children, Danielle and Dennis Jr. from kindergarten all the way through graduation. Dennis Jr. was one of the 96 in my graduating class. Ms. Donna was often a substitute teacher and everyone at school had met her at least once.
Basically, Friday night, Dennis Sr. started making threats. He claimed that every one of his children and grandchildren had ruined his credit, but he would take care of it Saturday. Devon, concerned for his mother's welfare, called the local police, who told him that because it was just a threat, there was nothing they could do, their hands were tied.
Saturday night, Dennis Sr. broke into the house where his ex-wife and oldest son and his pregnant wife and two year old son, Mason, were residing. My best friend and her husband are the godparents to Mason. Dennis Sr. chopped through the front door with an axe. Hearing the noise, Dennis Jr. rushed downstairs to confront the person breaking in. As he rounded the corner, his father pulled the trigger of a shot gun and blew a hole through his chest. Dennis Jr. fell to the floor at which point Ms. Donna rushed out of her room and through herself across his body to protect her son from further damage, the entire time screaming, "My baby, my baby!"
Dennis Sr. calmly placed the shotgun against the back of her head and pulled the trigger. Her face is unrecognizable. Shot from the shotgun went through her face and in the process, hit Dennis Jr. in the face. This wasn't enough for Sr. He walked around, put the shotgun to his oldest child's temple and pulled the trigger.
As he rushed upstairs, Amber, Dennis Jr.'s wife, had grabbed her two year old son from his bed. She was 6 months pregnant and to protect her unborn baby and two year old son, planned to jump from a two story window. Before she made it to the window, Dennis Sr. burst into the room and shot her nine times in the back. She managed to make it to the window with her two year old in her arms and jump. They hit the concrete slab beneathe the window and Mason died on impact, his brain damaged and his neck broken. When police arrived, Amber was barely concious. They flew her to Baton Rouge General and proceeded to remove her baby because of the damage done to her body. The baby, miraculously, had no ill effects from the shotgun damage to its mother's body. Amber, however, will need a prosthetic elbow and will probably never walk again in her lifetime. Even if both she and her baby manage to survive this ordeal, she will never be able to take care of the baby or herself and will never hold Mason again, who was her entire world. She just regained conciousness Monday and found out that her husband and two year old son are dead.
Back to Dennis Sr. however. The police, after finding Amber, went on a manhunt. They had no clue where he was. Senior, being an alcoholic, was drinking. He swerved off the road where police cornered him in his car. He was heading toward the home where the other children were staying to slaughter them as well. Police told him to exit the vehicle, and rather than spending the rest of his life in jail or possibly facing the death penalty, Dennis Sr. pulled out a concealed pistol and shot himself in the head.
These people were, at one point, my neighbors. I never suspected anything like this could possibly happen to them. I grew up with Dennis. We had alot of the same classes and while we weren't friends, we tolerated each other. He was always smiling and laughing at something with Waylon and Stan. I remember early mornings at school, when Shane would pull out his guitar and we would laugh and talk and dance while Shane played Jimmy Buffet's "Margaritaville" on the guitar. I remember bumping into Dennis in the hallways, headed to our respective lockers and I remember him rolling his eyes in English IV when we were debating Shakespeare's plays and the teacher was applauding me for stomping him in the debates.
My best friend, Ashley, was godmother to his child. Her husband, Keith, who Dennis and I also grew up with, was his godfather. And I feel totally helpless when they call me with their grief. I don't know what to tell them. Keith has been ranting and raving and shouting his anger to God since he found out about this Sunday morning. Ashley, like me, bottles her grief, but has expressed to me that she has no idea what to think about the death of her godchild. She told me, just yesterday, that when she agreed to be a godmother, she expected to have to take care of the children when their parents died. She is also godmother to my youngest daughter, Marley. She never expected to have to deal with the death of a godchild and I just don't know what to tell her. There are no words for such a tragedy. This kind of thing just doesn't happen in our tiny backwater town. This happens in other places and in major cities. Not here, where we settle with the thought of raising our children in a wholesome environment far from the rat race and the evils of the world.
If you pray, keep them in your prayers. If you don't, keep them in your thoughts. I don't know what else to say. This is something I've never had to deal with before and I'm still not sure how to handle it. The funerals are today, and it's raining here. Fitting weather for this situation. At least it will hide some of the tears.
-Kim
For those of you who don't know by now, I live in Smalltown, America. My graduating class consisted of 96 students in 2001. My town is one of those where everyone knows everyone and when tragedy strikes, it tends to affect all of us.
Friday night, Devon Carter received a phone call from his father, Dennis Sr. Mr. Dennis and Ms. Donna got a divorce a few years ago because of spousal abuse. I went to high school with their oldest children, Danielle and Dennis Jr. from kindergarten all the way through graduation. Dennis Jr. was one of the 96 in my graduating class. Ms. Donna was often a substitute teacher and everyone at school had met her at least once.
Basically, Friday night, Dennis Sr. started making threats. He claimed that every one of his children and grandchildren had ruined his credit, but he would take care of it Saturday. Devon, concerned for his mother's welfare, called the local police, who told him that because it was just a threat, there was nothing they could do, their hands were tied.
Saturday night, Dennis Sr. broke into the house where his ex-wife and oldest son and his pregnant wife and two year old son, Mason, were residing. My best friend and her husband are the godparents to Mason. Dennis Sr. chopped through the front door with an axe. Hearing the noise, Dennis Jr. rushed downstairs to confront the person breaking in. As he rounded the corner, his father pulled the trigger of a shot gun and blew a hole through his chest. Dennis Jr. fell to the floor at which point Ms. Donna rushed out of her room and through herself across his body to protect her son from further damage, the entire time screaming, "My baby, my baby!"
Dennis Sr. calmly placed the shotgun against the back of her head and pulled the trigger. Her face is unrecognizable. Shot from the shotgun went through her face and in the process, hit Dennis Jr. in the face. This wasn't enough for Sr. He walked around, put the shotgun to his oldest child's temple and pulled the trigger.
As he rushed upstairs, Amber, Dennis Jr.'s wife, had grabbed her two year old son from his bed. She was 6 months pregnant and to protect her unborn baby and two year old son, planned to jump from a two story window. Before she made it to the window, Dennis Sr. burst into the room and shot her nine times in the back. She managed to make it to the window with her two year old in her arms and jump. They hit the concrete slab beneathe the window and Mason died on impact, his brain damaged and his neck broken. When police arrived, Amber was barely concious. They flew her to Baton Rouge General and proceeded to remove her baby because of the damage done to her body. The baby, miraculously, had no ill effects from the shotgun damage to its mother's body. Amber, however, will need a prosthetic elbow and will probably never walk again in her lifetime. Even if both she and her baby manage to survive this ordeal, she will never be able to take care of the baby or herself and will never hold Mason again, who was her entire world. She just regained conciousness Monday and found out that her husband and two year old son are dead.
Back to Dennis Sr. however. The police, after finding Amber, went on a manhunt. They had no clue where he was. Senior, being an alcoholic, was drinking. He swerved off the road where police cornered him in his car. He was heading toward the home where the other children were staying to slaughter them as well. Police told him to exit the vehicle, and rather than spending the rest of his life in jail or possibly facing the death penalty, Dennis Sr. pulled out a concealed pistol and shot himself in the head.
These people were, at one point, my neighbors. I never suspected anything like this could possibly happen to them. I grew up with Dennis. We had alot of the same classes and while we weren't friends, we tolerated each other. He was always smiling and laughing at something with Waylon and Stan. I remember early mornings at school, when Shane would pull out his guitar and we would laugh and talk and dance while Shane played Jimmy Buffet's "Margaritaville" on the guitar. I remember bumping into Dennis in the hallways, headed to our respective lockers and I remember him rolling his eyes in English IV when we were debating Shakespeare's plays and the teacher was applauding me for stomping him in the debates.
My best friend, Ashley, was godmother to his child. Her husband, Keith, who Dennis and I also grew up with, was his godfather. And I feel totally helpless when they call me with their grief. I don't know what to tell them. Keith has been ranting and raving and shouting his anger to God since he found out about this Sunday morning. Ashley, like me, bottles her grief, but has expressed to me that she has no idea what to think about the death of her godchild. She told me, just yesterday, that when she agreed to be a godmother, she expected to have to take care of the children when their parents died. She is also godmother to my youngest daughter, Marley. She never expected to have to deal with the death of a godchild and I just don't know what to tell her. There are no words for such a tragedy. This kind of thing just doesn't happen in our tiny backwater town. This happens in other places and in major cities. Not here, where we settle with the thought of raising our children in a wholesome environment far from the rat race and the evils of the world.
If you pray, keep them in your prayers. If you don't, keep them in your thoughts. I don't know what else to say. This is something I've never had to deal with before and I'm still not sure how to handle it. The funerals are today, and it's raining here. Fitting weather for this situation. At least it will hide some of the tears.
-Kim
