THE REST IS SILENCE

How did it feel?

How did it feel to leave the house, Tuesday morning, knowing you were going to be driven by a taxi, you so diligently rang for, to your death and to the unpredictable slaughter of a number of anonymous people?

Did you go to bed the night before? Did you set the alarm clock for a certain hour to get on time to yours and many others’ meeting with death?

How did it feel when you set the bomb, when you pressed the button, when you set the pace for stop being? Did you feel omnipotent, with a dash of nostalgia for leaving life undone, or did you just focus on the task of death ahead, instead?

How did it feel when you looked your fellow comrades in the eyes? Did you wave a silent goodbye before shouting the death prayer? Did you get the chance to browse around to check out your victims at the check in counter? Did you get to choose the best spot, to take the largest crowd you could?

In death you never know, you don’t want to know, except you did know and I keep wondering, in spite of faith, religion, revengeful thoughts, and beliefs, how did it feel to leave the house to die and kill, yesterday morning?