I was scrolling through my phone last night, half-distracted, half-bored just one of those nights. I’d made some tea I didn’t even want, and the rain outside made everything feel extra heavy. You know that mood where everything feels… off? Then I saw the headline: “12-year-old girl stabbed to death.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
Twelve. That’s… that’s not even a teenager yet. That’s still “playing with dolls” age. Still “home by sunset” age. Still “mama, can you braid my hair?” age.
Honestly, I didn’t even want to open the article. Something in me wanted to protect my mind from it. But I did. And now I can’t unsee the image of her—her name, her little smile, her school uniform (those stiff collars that never sit right), her whole future that just... stopped.
I don’t know her. But I’ve known girls like her. Bright-eyed. Chatty. Maybe a little moody sometimes. Probably had a favorite K-drama, or was obsessed with TikTok dances. The kind of kid who still believes in birthday wishes and maybe thinks she’s invincible because nothing really bad ever happens.
Except something did.
From what I read, the details are still fuzzy (as they always are at first). Something about an argument. Maybe a peer. Maybe someone older. No one seems entirely sure yet. But in the end, there was a knife. And there was blood. And there was a little girl who never made it home.
And here’s the part that haunts me most: this kind of story doesn’t feel shocking anymore. It’s happening so often now that the outrage feels recycled. The grief feels secondhand. We light a candle in our minds, say “Oh God, not again,” and then scroll on.
But I don’t want to scroll past this one. I want to sit with it. Because somewhere, a mother is staring at an empty bed. Somewhere, a lunchbox is still packed, untouched. Somewhere, a classroom has one desk fewer, and no one knows what to say.
I’ve been thinking about how unsafe our kids are becoming. And not just in the “stranger danger” kind of way we were warned about growing up. No, this danger is inside the schools. Inside the neighborhoods. Sometimes even inside the homes.
In my experience, the scariest part is that it’s not just the act itself—it’s the silence after. The “no one saw it coming.” The “we thought they were just playing.” The “kids will be kids” excuse that brushes everything under the rug until it’s too late.
And I might be wrong, but I feel like we’ve lost something. Maybe it's that instinct to watch over each other’s children. Or maybe it’s just that we’re all so distracted—phones, bills, bad news overload—that we don’t notice the cracks forming.
I keep thinking: What was she thinking in those final moments? Did she cry out for help? Did she even understand what was happening? God, I hope not.
This isn’t just a tragedy. It’s a wake-up call. For parents. Teachers. Neighbors. Even us strangers online.
Because if a 12-year-old can be stabbed to death and the world just keeps turning like nothing happened... then what kind of world are we building?
And maybe the better question is: what are we willing to do to change that?
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An innocent 12 years girl was stabbed to death 
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