They’re Waiting at the Monon High Bridge

 

 

Grandpappy told my pappy

Back in my day son

When a man had to pay

For all the wicked he done

Take all the rope in Texas

Find a tall oak tree

Round up all of them bad boys

Hang ‘em right in the street!

Unimaginable. Two young girls walking on a warm day in a park in a small, nondescript town in Indiana. BFFs. Best Friends Forever. And I guess, in a way, they were because now they lay side by side . . . Forever!

 

Think about the years since they were found in the woods.  It’s been seven. What would Abigail Williams and Liberty German have been by now. Coeds? Married? Maybe just working in a CVS Pharmacy. But they’d be alive. Would they still be close, or would they have drifted apart, each taking a different path on life’s highway? Or would they have grown old in Delphi, remembering a life well lived? Perhaps two little old ladies selling antique furniture in some old store that they bought after they buried their husbands. 

 

We will never know. Time stopped for them on an old railroad bridge in the park that kids proved their metal by walking across. There are psychologists who try to understand the mind of someone who’d kill two young ladies on that walk during a day off from school. Why? What good would that serve? To perhaps prevent the next senseless crime? If you believe that, have I got a bridge for you, and it’s on sale!

 

I’ve studied tons of analytics on serial killers and there is a common element in almost all of them. They have no conscience and no fear of getting caught. They live for the thrill of the kill with no consideration for those who kneel at the graves. And there are those who fret about when they receive their just due for “all the wicked they done!” Lord forbid that they should be uncomfortable as we kill them!

 

I’ve heard all the talk about sticks, and unspent bullets and that “Down the hill” recording and as I dig deeper all I see is a little fat guy who ruthlessly murdered two little girls. And he deserves a fair trial . . . before Judge Roy Bean! Yet we do look for answers. If for no other reason except to head the next one off at the pass. To hell with their rights. To hell with their mental health, and to hell with them!

 

Serial killers, active shooters, transwhatever school teachers all are indicative of a complete loss of moral compass. Some people you cannot fix. They just have to know that they have an appointment with a rope, and soon, very soon after they are caught. Right in the street. The direction of America proves that God is experiencing a shortage of fire and brimstone because if He wasn’t, the fire in Hawaii would look like a BBQ. 

 

Death is final. All that I’ve said will not bring the girls back. And, sad to say, will not do anything about the clown show the trial will be as the defense tries to convince the jury that the killer had a bad childhood. Or that he’d lost weight while incarcerated. Libby and Abby have lost weight, too. But they are beautiful to me. And they always will be. 

 

The best thing we can do for them is never forget. Don’t let them be just another news story. Don’t asperse them because they used social media. They died, but never let their memory die. Keep the memory alive. Take a walk in a park sometime and know they didn’t finish theirs. Finish it for them. They’re waiting for you at the end of the Monon High Bridge.