Panic. Terror. Mistrust. I find myself scrutinizing every human being around me, running away from every bag/ suit case/ parcel. I hate this cold feeling that is sliming its way through my body. I’m too scared to move, too scared to stay still.

B O M B – B L A S T – B O O M

Six, Seven, Eight. Twelve. It can’t happen here. It can’t happen to us.
“We condemn the blast”. Is that the best you can do? Protect us, damn you. Stop throwing money around and DO YOUR JOB. Condemn, condemn , condemn. Such a weak, weak, weak word. It reeks of helplessness.

And you. You. Yes, I’m drawing a line. I’m forced to. Div | ide. That’s what you want isn’t it? To be the other? Does it give you a sense of pride? To hurt. Again weak. Hurt. Pain. Suffer. Grief. This is all I can do. All I can say. You’re a monster, inhuman. You think you’re making yourself heard? You’re not. The sound is deafening. Nobody is listening. We’re far too consumed with something else. With the urge to protect, to seek warmth. To believe. You can’t shake my faith in people. I won’t let you.

Anger. Uncontrollable, immutable rage. My city, my people, my home, my country.

Our country. Do you hear me? OUR country.