Why are you surprised?

Why are you surprised when I bring hell to your hallways.

You talk guns, guns, guns. Give me ten minutes and Google, and I’ll have a dozen ways to take out dozens more. It ain’t the tool, fool. It’s the thirst.

Thirst for vengeance, thirst for thrill, thirst for destruction, thirst for the kill, thirst for attention, thirst for fame. You’ve shown me since birth that fame rates more than merit. Bring terror? Who cares? I’m trending. Looking good, Kylie and Kim. Where’s the magazine covers for the girl who works a soup kitchen?

I’ve been disconnected, misdirected. My video game avatar is my closest friend. We mow down enemies for hours on end. How many billions do game makers rake in? How many millions in Hollywood ads does Kimmel take in?

You rant about the NRA. You say nothing about the DGA. I’ve seen slasher flicks and shoot-em ups since first opening my eyes. Endless gunfire glamorized. Tarantino’s latest won what big prize? Why are you surprised?

You’ve seen the stats. I’d rather stay in. Rather be on social media than be social. I’d rather have a smartphone in my hand than a handshake. Porn than a prom date. And you’re okay with that.

I am told I am my own king, my own God, my own reality. I can be a male today, a female tomorrow and you gladly oblige me. Today I want to be a killer. Who are you to deny me? Why are you surprised?

You tell me murder in the womb is a choice. Why cry when I chose murder outside the womb? Why are you surprised?

Spare me your weep and woe. You reap what you sow.

You pump me full of drugs instead of hope. Ban prayer but legalize dope. Dad’s long gone. Mom’s singing her own song. Who catches me when I’m at the end of the rope?

You want answers. You want solutions. Congressional resolutions. “Trump, do something!” But you’re only just showing. Showboating. You’re not interested in knowing.

Truth could set you free, but you can’t say it on TV. Derision is your religion.

You took “Thou shall not kill” off the school walls. Verses are treated like curses. “Your t-shirt quotes Jesus. Put on a jacket!” Che is more welcome than Christ. To say you hear Christ’s voice is to get you despised. So tell me, why are you surprised?

What is mentally ill? To have “love your enemy” running through your head? Or “they get what they deserve”? Some nerve.

There is an answer. The answer is Christ. Do not act surprised.

Al Perrotta is the Managing Editor of The Stream.