There he lay, slumped
against the wall. His eyes seemed empty, staring off into nothing. His hands
were still clutching his chest, where blood poured from his wound. Adam Jaxon,
the Adam Jaxon, of Eagle Adam and the
Hardcore Pup, lay bleeding, gunned down in the streets of D.C. I felt frozen,
unable to move. All I could do was stare in disbelief when that crazed woman
made nonsense claims about “Satan worship” and “Devil music”. When she drew a
revolver from her purse, and fired at Adam, hitting him center mass. Fortunately,
she didn't get a chance to fire a second shot, as the man next to her threw a
right cross to her cheek, spraying blood and teeth onto those around her. She
dropped the gun and sprinted from the scene, trying to escape the angry mob now
surrounding her. But the woman didn't make it far though; her cries died out as
the horde of furious punks surround her. Justice was served, but not by the police
or the court system. I watched, terrified, as the last few short breaths
escaped from Adam’s lips. My legs grew heavy and I fell to my knees, trembling.
Tears began to flow from my eyes. He was dead, my hero, my idol, my leader,
gone. It was then that I realized that punk was just and a belief, an outlook,
a way of viewing life. I had idolized it, placed it, and all who stood for it,
on a pedestal, and it was taken down by a crazy, zealous mother. My ideals were destroyed. And when my
ideals are destroyed, my foundation crumbles, and so the pedestal falls.
-Timothy W.
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