my AP english essay that i thought was good

Frantically, the mother tries to soothe her baby as its cries escalate to a piercing scream. A few more moments, she thinks, until her stop comes and she can feed him. She rocks him back and forth, tears of frustration in her eyes. Next to the hassled mother sits a young girl, studying for her math test. The problems and numbers swirl around her head, mixing with the wails of the baby. There are only two more stops until she has to get off and take her exam. She looks around the bus, sighing, and closes her notebook. Her eyes land on a yeshiva boy, here to learn in Israel for the year. He has a book in his hand, and he appears to be completely engrossed in what he was learning. Stretching, his kippah falls off of his head and lands on the newspaper the young man sitting next to him is reading. Apologizing, he takes it back and goes back to his studying. Scratching his nose absentmindedly, the young man readjusts his paper, his eyes flitting from headline to headline. He looked up as the loud sounds of rock music reach his ears. Looking across the aisle, he sees a teenage Israeli boy, music being pumped into his head by his ipod. The boy runs his hand through his hair, which is as loud as the music he is listening to, and looks around defiantly, as if daring someone to care. As the bus makes its way slowly through the winding streets of Jerusalem, the mother whispers little nothings to her baby and waits anxiously to get home. The school girl picks up her backpack, not sure she’s ready for a test she’s never going to take. The yeshiva boy finishes what he’s learning and closes his book with a satisfied smile on his face, thinking of the questions he will never get to ask his teachers. The young Israeli boy turns off his music, and for a moment there is complete silence on the bus. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the man with the newspaper lets his fingers drift towards a button on his watch. He looks around, as if memorizing the faces of the people around him. Closes his eyes. Whispers a prayer. Smiling serenely, the suicide bomber activates his bomb. Praising Allah, he wonders who will hear the blast.

He didn’t need to wonder.

Everyone heard the blast.

August 10, 2001. Fifteen people are killed and about 90 injured in a terrorist attack on a restaurant in Haifa. Hamas admits responsibility. November 21, 2002. A suicide bomber blows himself up on a packed rush-hour bus in west Jerusalem, killing 11 passengers and injuring scores more. March 9, 2003. A bomb explodes in a crowded café in Tel Aviv. There are at least 14 dead, and 57 known casualties. June 19, 2004. Suicide bomber kills himself and 19 civilians in a bomb attack on a bus in southern Jerusalem. November 1, 2005. One person is killed and 21 are wounded by a bomb packed with metal bolts, which explodes near a bus stop in Tel Aviv.

Why are these lives, these souls, these tragic deaths reduced to numbers and statistics? How have we become so callous? These articles should shock us to our very core. They should twist our hearts and bring tears to our eyes. Instead, we turn up our music, check our email, watch our TV shows religiously and continue drowning in our alternate universe. Nothing can touch us here; nothing can hurt us, because we never take that moment to face reality. Never just freeze time for that one moment, and reflect on the mother who doesn’t even have a grave to memorialize her son with, because he got blown to pieces. Never think about that daughter who will never see her father again, because he was on the wrong bus at the wrong time. Wake up. Remember those lives that have been stolen cruelly. Remember those who were loved, who were cherished, and who died needlessly. If we forget, what was their purpose?