Personal Essay: A Short Story Of A Dead Little Girl

His name was Aylan Kurdi. He was three years old, a refugee escaping from war-torn Syria. Face down he lifelessly lies in the sand in a red T-shirt and pair of shorts. A Syrian Kurd from Kobani, a town near the Turkish border that has witnessed months of heavy fighting between Islamic State and Syrian Kurdish forces. He drowned after the 15-foot boat taking him from Bodrum to the Greek island of Kos capsized shortly before dawn on Wednesday, killing 12 passengers. Aylan's 5-year-old brother, Galip, and his mother, Rehan, were also among the dead. His father, Abdullah, was the only family member to survive to tell his story, but the picture is worth a thousand words. I thought long and hard before I re-tweeted this story. His little sneakers still

Everyone is so encompassed by there own life, being completely frazzled and lifeless, faces in there phones; oblivious to the fallen Icarus right in front of them. One scroll and the little boy is a lost memory to those who were once "so invested" to the issue. Anyone can look at a photo of a dead little boy and feel some sympathy, but what about those who really want to make a change. What about those who's research about the family, about the Syrian crisis, about the other thousands of little boys that died. What about those who don't follow an account, but instead follow an organization that will better the cause. Yet instead most of us use technology as a shield, being able to flip past the horrible images of the refugee crisis and not feel any remorse for what is on the screen. And, as the stories popularity fades and a new social phenomena comes to light, the issue is still present but invisible to us. Blocked by the media the issue is not longer an interest to us, like so many stories before it. However, the father is will still be grieving, the poor will still be poor, and that little boy will still be