Angel (english version)

Cover her face.
Mine eyes dazzle.
She died young.

-John Webster

Friday the 10th, June.

About 22.00 hrs I started crying for no reason. I was on my own, watching a movie (Princess Diaries, I found myself guilty) then I suddenly broke in tears, like if I were in a burial. Hours before, I read the previous verse in an Anne Rice novel, recited by a heartbroken Lestat, to an inquisitive Claudia.

Never thought I would remember the verse again.


Saturday 11th. Morning.

The day started quietly for me, with a light breakfast -as always- and background music while reading Facebook's newsletter. Then, a note made me stop. All I could read was Christina Grimmie, young and beloved singer -whom my sister and I followed from her first steps- died at 22.

The world suddenly stopped as I waited the page to load. It's a joke, I thought at first. It's just a bad joke.

It was an accident, I thought later, It MUST BE an accident. She was a good girl, it HAD TO BE an accident.

FOUR GUNSHOTS.

One more, and the resemblance with John Lennon would have been chilling. Four gunshots. Three in the chest and one in the head. All in front of the fans and the supporting band. In front of her brother, who had to tackle the murderer before he harmed someone else.

It was hard to break the news to my sister, and she didn't believed me at first. I was in total shock all day. All I could say was a single question:


Wich kind of monster does that to a child?

I mean, I know she was not a child anymore. But at the same time, she actually was. A tender, warm and nice child. The kind of artist you want your children to admire. You looked her in the eye, even in photos, and you could see such a sweet and childish aura, you could see she would never harm someone on purpose.

Christina was someone's sister. Someone's baby. The Beacon of Hope of so many kind children like her, and for many adults too.


And yet, she was killed in cold blood.


I have so many questions right now, none for God as we are used to, but for Kevin James Loibl, the name of the devil in this tragic ocassion.

What in the world did she do? Did she break your icy heart? You were on your 30's and she wasn't even a full-grown adult, what did you expect?

Did someone tell you to do it? Did your hear voices in your head? How long did you plan it? Because it was so obvious you planned it, you son of a bitch. No one carries a weapon to a family event.

What the hell you wanted to try? Were you a copycat? Wanted to be a brand new David Chapman? ¿The next Catcher in the Rye?

Besides, you did it so she would suffer. A slow and painful death. The kind of death people would wish for somebody like you. But you booked the quick one for your self, you sucker. It couldn't be other way, right? They shouldn't catch you, not alive. Because they caught you.

I guess it was the best choice, I don't think you would survive for long, with all that hate over you.

I wanna cry but I can't. Can't believe it yet; and ironically, I feel so much hate now. Ironically, cause she had not wanted it that way. She wasn't a "hater". I dare to saymaybe she could forgive it. Because she was that way: a kind and talented girl, full of love and faith.

She was an Angel.

She is an Angel now.