Bloody symphony

The blood wasn’t even dry when the investigators went into the club.
Counting the bodies and bullets and shell casings.
Measuring this, photographing that.
Puling out wallets, looking in purses. Identifying the dead so others could tell their families.
The ones who were calling over and over.
The cell phones rang. So many of them.
A mad symphony surrounded the investigators.
One had a gunfire ringtone.
They set that phone to vibrate.
It fell off of the evidence table.
And it danced on the floor, skittering around in a circle.
Over and over.
As its brothers and sisters played on.

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