Bomb

Bomb

30 December 2017

terrorist10-ppcorn
Courtesy PP.com

 

He adjusted the inside of his jacket and nervously patted the paddings. People pushed past him unseeingly. He knew that he was insignificant to them as he had always known since the age of 10. Indeed he did not have features that stood out and he was too quiet to be otherwise noticeable. He clenched his teeth and thought to himself that soon that would change. He slowly made his way through the throngs of human beings in the London subway until he reached the middle of the platform where people were pushing desperately trying to find a way into the train.

He succeeded in boarding the tube and kept clutching onto the sides of his jacket feverishly. One passenger who noticed this looked at him with curiosity and he felt pride well inside of him. Now they were noticing him and soon his name would become a legend among his countrymen. He had never cared about all those stories of over 70 virgins that the instructor had piped about when teaching them how to use the jackets. All he cared about was to make his family proud, to make a name for himself even if it were in death. The train pulled into Westminster station and the mass of people started to slowly exit it pushing him onto the platform. They were soon to escape his sight and he thought it would not be worthy of him to go without this mass of people who had shared with him his last ride.

“Bomb!” he yelled and the immediate reaction was that everybody started to run away from him. He held himself tautly, displaying the devices attached to his body. He could feel the fear of those running. “Stop running or I will trigger it”, he yelled and everyone stopped running aside from a desperate few. All eyes were turned towards him. He felt the attention escalate. Somewhere in the background he could hear police officers asking him not to move but he ignored them and started slowly moving towards the center of the crowd. Again people started moving away from him frantically and again he yelled at them not to move, petrifying them on the spot. His hand moved ever so slightly on the insides of his jacket before his body was blown to bits taking out half of the station which crumbled down on the remaining pieces of the crowd.

Sahalé – Morning light

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