I stood in front of the 18 plain black caskets on an early Sunday morning. They were all closed now, most the mourners had already left. The loud sound of wails and sobs that had once filled the air had been reduced to a heavy silence, with the exception of the occasional sniffle. They hadn't deserved this, despite what I sometimes said to humor my best friend Alexa. No, they hadn't deserved to die by a bullet through their chests, to bleed out on the library carpet. They didn't deserve to hear Alexa's maniacal laughter as they left this earth. Even if they had bullied her for years, even if they had made her life a living hell, even if she was just living up to their expectations. They didn't deserve to die this way, their blood on her hands, but they did deserve something for what they had done to Alexa.