I grew up in New England, not far from the heart of Boston. My fondest memory of Boston took place in 2011: the Boston Bruins had just won the Stanley Cup, and I stood among thousands of adoring and proud fans and watched the NHL champions celebrate the result of a season composed of hard work, luck and commitment.

That day, Copley Square was filled with black and gold, pride and joy.

Monday, April 15th,  I was shocked by a very different image of the familiar downtown location. The streets were stained with blood and smoke, fear and shock instilled on the faces of everyone present. Tragedy had struck.

Brothers Dzhokhar and Tamerlan Tsarnaev were found to be the suspects for the twin explosions that rocked the Boston Marathon, killing three people and wounding more than 170. After 80 hours of hiding, the brothers were discovered and, in an effort to survive, unleashed gunfire and explosives on authorities, leading to the death of Officer Sean Collier. Tamerlan Tsarnaev was killed in the gunfire that night. His younger brother, Dzhokhar, stole an SUV during the commotion and ran over his brother’s body in order to get away.

Dzhokhar managed to escape authorities until Friday night, when police discovered him hiding in a covered boat. Dzhokhar was reported to be stable but too injured to communicate.

Authorities had hoped to obtain the two brothers alive so that they could discover their motive for the terrorist attack on the marathon.

Humans are inquisitive beings. We strive to know: how things work and why things happen. But will we ever be able to truly understand the reasoning behind this tragedy? Would it really make a difference?

No reasoning could ever justify the horror that was inflicted on my home this past week. No excuse or belief could rationalize the behavior of these lowly individuals.

When a person dedicates their life to hatred, they’re no longer human at all. As far as I’m concerned, both brothers were dead even before those bombs went off. They were dead to humanity, numbed to empathy and compassion. And now that he’s in the custody of law officials, it’s safe to say he will never walk the streets of society again, so I don’t care to hear anything from Dzhokhar. I don’t care if he’s alive or dead.

Boston is a city rich with history, and Copley Square will now be added to that record.

This tragedy will be documented in history books for many years to come, and all I can hope is that my city, my home, is remembered for its heart, unity and bravery, and that these brothers are portrayed as the merciless and pathetic cowards that they truly were.