[Mimic#402_nonscientific]The Littleton Massacre_Chelsea

11th Grade - First Day of Schoolby Mitchell Joycelicensed by creative commmons from Flickr

U.S. COLUMBINE 15TH ANNIVERSARY

The Littleton Massacre: …In Sorrow And Disbelief

• Nancy Gibbs @nancygibbs
 

May 3, 1999

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The story of the slaughter at Columbine High School opened a sad national conversation about what turned two boys’ souls into poison. It promises to be a long, hard talk, in public and in private, about why smart, privileged kids rot inside. Do we blame the parents, blame the savage music they listened to, blame the ease of stockpiling an arsenal, blame the chemistry of cruelty and cliques that has always been a part of high school life but has never been so deadly? Among the many things that did not survive the week was the hymn all parents unconsciously sing as they send their children out in the morning, past the headlines, to their schools: It can’t happen here, Lord, no, it could never happen here.

First Draft

The story of the slaughter in[at] Columbine High School opened a sad national conversation about what turned two boys' souls into poison. It promises [to be] a long, hard talk[,] in public and in private[,] about why these smart, privileged kids rot inside. Do we blame the parents, blame the savage music they listened to, blame the ease of stockpiling of an arsenal, blame the chemistry of the cruelty and cliques that has always been a part of high school issues[life] but [has] never been so deadly? Among the many things that didn't survive the week was the hymn our[all] parents unconsciously sing when sending[as they send] their kids out from home[in the morning], over[past] the headlines and[,] to their school[s]: it can't happen here, Lord, no, it could never happen here. 

Second Draft:

The story of the slaughter at Columbine High School opened a national conversation about what turned the two boys' souls into poison. It promises to be a long, hard talk, in public and in private, about why smart, privileged kids rot inside. Do we blame the parents, blame the savage music they listened to, blame the ease of stockpiling an arsenal, blame the chemistry of the cruelty and cliques that has always be a part of high school life but has never be so deadly? Among the many things that did not survive the week was the hymn all parents unconsciously sing as they send their kids out in the morning, past the headlines, to their school: it can't happen here, Lord, no, it could never happen here.

P.S. it's so concise and naturally flowing... Love the language...