Colorblind

Mark Kilroy.

The room spins around him; noises from the left and right grasp his attention, but he can’t understand their words. He tries to move, but can’t, looking down at his arms and legs it is clear as to why: he is tied down. Panic is setting in; that dizzy, hot, lightheaded feeling is finding its way into the last moments of Kilroy’s life. Before this realization Mark was hoping his friends were playing a bad joke on him, but now it is real. The voices go silent; a small sliver of a shaft of light falls on Mark’s face, and a breeze comes through the now opened door. Maybe they’re letting him leave? Maybe he’ll escape? haha, no. Constanzo would never let that happen. But this hope was just what he was looking for. Now the door to Kilroy’s own personal hell had been opened, and after a man who could be the devil himself walked through, again shut.

Nothing is familiar to the poor American boy awaiting his fate, trying desperately to make sense of where he is. All he can remember is the last night, the buzz from a night on the town in Matamoros, and then nothing. When he woke up it was black, sticky, hot. There is a heaviness to the air, and he can sense the multitude of people around him, though the darkness of the room would not allow even a hand an inch from the face to be seen. Their voices are driving him to the brink of sanity; the minions are doing their jobs rather well- rambling on in words Kilroy can’t comprehend, making the boy lose any hope of reconciliation. And random raucous laughter; laughter that could make Alexander the Great soil his pants. Though he didn’t feel them before, the ropes around him now consume Kilroy’s every thought. How can I get them off? How can I get out of here? Oh honey, I’m afraid you never will. His vision is going in and out. Darkness of reality and the fuzzy black of the unconscious world. Light will come again soon, coupled with the end of his suffering.

This man carries an air of power and authority through the darkness. He is somehow different from the other voices in the cacophony of noise that has tortured Kilroy in the last half hour. He is the one that will take Kilroy’s life. No question there. The light mood of the room is gone now; the leader of a violent cult can often do that. Soon his blood will be poured among the others in the nganga, his brain will soon be harvested – ripe with sacrificial magic- and4 his body buried among the other sacrifices in the graveyard of this homicidal ranch. The limpia is now starting. Anyone with any false hope that Kilroy will make it out alive: let go of it now.

Adolfo de Jesus Constanzo

Adolfo de Jesus Constanzo

Everything must be cleansed.  The words so familiar on his tongue. The ceremony; the focus of his life for many years is always on the top of his mind.  Taking a deep breath, savoring the moment, Constanzo begins the sacrifice of Mark Kilroy. He watches his new prey- tired, confused and fearful- just as it should be. In the background, the sound of the nganga beginning to boil urged the ceremony onward.

In a moment’s time the restraints are cut off Kilroy’s wrists. Constanzo looks deep into his eyes and sees the spark of hope within them, that he knew will soon enough go out like the rolling blackouts of blazing summers year after year. Kilroy’s eyes dart back and forth across the room. Quickly he jumps up and makes a break for it- it is really quite amusing, though, his determination to live– but Constanzo and his men see it coming, hacking him down with a machete before he can make it a footstep into the fresh evening air. Constanzo always gives his prey a chance; loving to see the last fight or a human’s life; their last moment of courage.

Now the painful reality sets in for Kilroy: There is no way I’m making it out of this room alive; I will die tonight. The weight and sorrow of his lost life carries heavy on his chest and shoulders. All of the experiences that he will never have come to mind in his last hours. He will never get married, never have kids, never feel the priceless kind of love from watching his own children walk for the first time. He will never become a doctor, never let all of the work he’d done in premed pay itself off by treating that first patient. He is crying, screaming, begging for his life.

Yes this is just what I wanted: a man begging for mercy he will never get. The nganga is waiting for your blood my friend, and now it is time!

 

The cauldron boiling with the blood of the men of the cult, and bones stolen from the graveyard is the choice drink of the evening; it gives Constanzo the power of palo mayombe. The ritual begins, like that of any other sacrifice, with bloodletting of the prey and adding such blood to the nganga to strengthen Constanzo’s powers. While the ceremony drags on, Kilroy gives up; nothing left but death which has been waiting for him since his first breath taken in the shack at this homicidal ranch.

  

 Matamoros, Mexico Case Sheet

Head Detective: Chief Deputy Carlos Tapia                                                                                                                                                Case Number: H375 :

              Area of crime : Matamoros, MX                                                        Name of Person who committed crime: Adolfo de Jesus ConstanzoBirthday: 11/01/1962Place of birth: Miami, FL, USA

Prior arrests: Minor shoplifting and petty theft in his youth                           

          

Crime in question: Kidnapping, torture, and murder of Mark Kilroy.

Description: One of the men in the cult- Serafin Hernandez Garcia –refused to stop at one of our police checkpoints. My men then followed him to Rancho Elena where my men found narcotics, and brought Garcia and another drug dealer, Valdez, in. In custody both promptly admitted their parts in the murder of Mark Kilroy, showing little remorse. They then went on to describe at least 14 other murders that they had helped within the last nine months as part of Constanzo’s cult. Adolfo Constanzo. But we couldn’t find the suspect. We ended up arresting various members of his cult.

When we interrogated them they confessed to the murders of many Mexican citizens and wondered why if the murders of the Mexican citizens didn’t seem to matter to the police why the why did the murder of one American boy disrupt the entire police force.

Unidentified prostitutes. Unidentified barmen. Guillermo Calzada Sanchez. Raul Paz Esquivel. Jorge Montez. Jorge Valente. Fierro Gomez. Ezequiel Rodriguez Luna. Ruben Vela Garza. Ernesto Riva Diaz. Jose Garcia. Unidentified victim.

Mark Kilroy.

Death is colorblind. It took Mark Kilroy in the same painful embrace as it took a number of Mexican victims.  If police and government throughout the world can be as colorblind as death, then people will be able to forget about racism. For eternity, governments have approved of the discrimination and mistreatment of certain races, including the predominant one in their country as seen with Adolfo de Jesus Constanzo. The police and government let Constanzo have free reign over the lives of Mexican citizens, but when it got to the murder of an American boy, somehow he had stepped over some sort of imaginary line. If the murder of one race turns no heads, why should the government care about the murder of any other race. Here is where the problem lies. We need officials to be colorblind.

In the colonial era, royal governors and local assemblies found the Native Americans to be an inferior race, and encouraged colonists to take part in their mistreatment. This progressed to the long period of slavery in the United States and throughout Europe. Next “Nativists” in America disfavored the influx of emigration from states such as China and Japan to the United States. Hitler tried his luck exterminating Jews from existence (and scarily enough had a pretty hearty following). The Hutu majority with government backed militias picked off Tutsi one by one in Rwanda. Internment of American citizens of Japanese descent on American soil. Experimentation done on black soldiers by the United States government during WWII.

Mistreatment of minority groups has always seemed to be the norm, but today it must come to an end. People everywhere must stop seeing the color of each other’s skin. Stop describing individuals based on their cultural background. Stop persecuting each other for their differences. Not a single person can stop the prejudices set up by governments and social norms. Instead as a society we must work to make new norms. People of the world: we must be colorblind.

 

 

 

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The Superwoman of Neurology

The immediate purpose of Jane Leavy in “The Woman Who Would Save Football” is to praise and enlighten the reader of McKee’s discoveries. Many scientists are shown in this article to think very highly of McKee, such as “Eleanor Perfetto” who reffered to McKee as “a brilliant scientist who happens to be a little blonde bombshell”. Her discoveries “see beyond” many athlete’s terrible injuries and “grasp the importance of aesthetics in changing public opinion” on what is really killing them.

The bigger picture of this article is that everything isn’t always what it seems from the outside. McKee has to look inside people’s brains and unravel the mystery of what happened to them, what sports they played, or what explosions trhey were in a close proximity to and how these impacts affected their brains. From the outside most people could only see “Joe Theismann’s splintered tibia, or Bo Jackson’s necrotic hip,” but McKee saw through them to their brains and their underlying conditions.

The author conveys her purpose through many, many examples of how McKee loves the sport and how her research is helping to save football. I thought that this article was very redundant and drawn out. The message could have easily been conveyed in a much shorter amount of pages, and without all the personal fluff. In this article I learned how easily a brain can be affected and how dramatically.This surprised me because I thought the head and the helmets used in sports would protect their heads more than they do. Another thing that surprised me is that in soccer head injuries can be caused as easily as headbutting a ball into the goal. This article connects to me because I get hit in the head in every single sport I play. My head is like a ball magnet, and this article showed me that I need to be a lot more careful, especially since I broke my nose.