And so, the curtain falls on Mrs. Christina—our tireless heroine of havoc—whose yearlong spectacle has at last exhausted even the most devoted spectators.  What began with her Facebook crusade of slurs and sermons soon blossomed into an operetta of contradictions: hacked accounts that somehow typed in her voice, moral lectures punctuated by profanity, reconciliations proclaimed and rescinded before breakfast.

There were the tantrums dressed as faith, the friendships set alight for sport, the artistic redecorations performed with paint and spite, and, finally, the farewell performance—equal parts breakdown and broadcast—where everyone from cousin to cashier was tagged for the occasion.  Each act louder than the last, each chance for accountability denied in fervor.

Perhaps, in the hush that follows her exit, she might notice how still the world becomes when she stops shaking it.  Maybe she’ll find that peace makes a far better audience than chaos ever did.  And if not—well, at least the rest of us can enjoy the intermission.

Farewell, Mrs. Christina.  The stage is yours no longer, and society can once again hear itself think.