I watched the whole thing from beginning to end and all I could think about was the terror that must have been running through his mind, as he knew what was about to happen to him. And no this was not the movies. One of the most troubling aspects of watching this was my difficulty processing it and once I was able to fully grasp what was actually happening everything was on a whole different plane.

Out of control. Terrifying. Surreal. The realization of my worst nightmare.

And then I realized how much of this we see in our every day lives. Not just in the media, but everywhere. I mean even 'Screamers' scare attractions and decapitated heads on Halloween, it's supposed to be a joke, right? Funny?

Do we even get it? Are we that isolated? Blinded? We say we know the difference, that we're not desensitised. The irony is that we're so far gone that we make jokes from the carnage that we sow. And we don't even know it, we don't even know it...

I also thought about the parents and relatives of this man who had to watch him die in such a way and to know that his death was as painful and terrifying as they could ever have imagined and how they had to hear about it from everyone else.

But once I think about all the media coverage this heinous yet relatively insignificant act received compared to the millions, if not more, people who unnecessarily die as a result of war, disease and greed... I am angered even more.

I can't figure out what is more infuriating. Nor do I think it's fair.

It reminds me of a poem...

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! --- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime ---
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

-- Wilfred Owen