WARNING: This post contains confronting images and video.
Emails. Let’s not talk about emails any more.
Or pant suits. Or hair. Or whether or not the future President of the United States should be “unlikable” Hillary, or unbearable Trump.
There’s blood on the floor of a nursery, and, really, it’s time to focus.
There are smears of crimson underneath a red slide. Splatters of it on the floor next to a tiny, ride-on truck, familiar as the kind all of our children have sat on at one time or another. Pools of it under a tandem swing set.
There’s a tiny pink backpack lying beside a little-lunch in a plastic bag.
There are no children in these pictures. At least six of them are believed to have been killed at this school nursery at Harasta, outside of Damascus, on Sunday in a bomb strike.
There's video footage of the survivors of this attack. They are tiny children lying, blood in their ears, eyes swollen shut, gauze patches on their arms and faces, blankets pulled up around their necks.
A little girl lies looking at the camera with blank eyes, her face pitted with shrapnel wounds, a cut on her neck.
The images are horrifying, and difficult to look at. And these are the lucky children who didn't die. These are the ones who get to live to face more days and weeks, months, maybe even years of bombing and displacement, of destruction and death and lives crushed alongside the neighbourhoods that are now little more than rubble and dust.