Aurora Theatre Memorial (Taken with Instagram)
i will never forget waking up the morning after the aurora theater shootings. i turned on the news and there was a picture of the outside of the theater, with the caption - aurora theater massacre. i thought someone had broken in and trashed the place. oh no.
the denver news was saturated with parts of this story for days, i’m not even sure if any other news was reported for almost a week. of course it was a horrific situation and many lives were altered forever. the sons of two friends of mine were in the theater next door that night and, thankfully, escaped unharmed. so random to know someone connected to this story.
i happened to be home the morning the shooter kid had his first court appearance. watching him in court, with that dazed and frightened look, made me SO sad. i mean… what happened to him? this bright young man doing serious studies turns into a heartless killer? whatthefuck? i don’t get it. and if he’s such a heartless killer, why did he tell the police about the booby traps in his apartment? doesn’t add up.
my brief time in portland combined with my year with a man from portland has affected me more than i thought, because i’m a little obsessed with the conspiracy theories surrounding this case. did the government get a hold of him, drug him and train him to commit an act of terrorism? i don’t know. i’m not counting it out. i have an entire movie in my head about this case, and it ends up with a faked death and the witness protection program. possible.
anyway… the pictures. i took them at the memorial about a week and a half after the shootings. it was very weird being there, kind of surreal. there was a heaviness in the air, and many of the people walking around were crying. i didn’t cry. i didn’t even feel like crying. i don’t know why. but i was moved. there were many beautiful words, lots of sweet energy, and much sadness. the picture i took of the note written by a kid was especially sweet. i can’t imagine having to explain this situation to a kid. oy. glad i’m not a parent.