The Vast Uncertainty of a Raindrop

Scared people with vivid imaginations say a lot of things. There were countless theories, but not one viable explanation for the 1973 fire on old HYW 90. Local authorities and government officials were swift in their efforts to cover it all up; But we, the people, didn’t heal so quickly. We’d lost friends. We’d lost family- all burned to death or drowned. All we got in return was a patch of wooden crosses near the ruins and a wall in the sheriff’s office dedicated to those who were still presumed missing since that dreadful day. A cruel, tasteless display if you ask me. They weren’t missing. They didn’t disappear without a trace. They hadn’t been kidnapped. Their bodies are still way down deep under the weight of the dark river, the rusted cars, and the charred splinter remains of the bridge. Those bones will never rest. Those bones will never know peace. Every soul deserves the right to rest in peace. What’s left of their bones, after the alligators and garfish picked them clean, will forever remain in the murky deep.