Tapping my left foot on the bottom of the car, I drove to the market listening to I Fight Dragons. I stopped at the red light, nodding my head and tapping my finger against the driving wheel. The red interior was soft and plush under me, my old car rolling down the road. I wouldn’t sell this car for half the money in the world. I’ve had it for years, it’s as ugly as hell and I love it.
I pulled into the parking lot of the only market near my house, waiting for the song to finish before I turned the car off. My husband has a fantastic well paying job and we live in one of those stereotypical neighborhoods. As a child I promised myself I’d never do that, but these things happen. And honestly, my family and I even out that stereotypical-ness. We’re a pretty strange bunch. But the house we live in is in a neighborhood that is in a town that is just owned by these people. Those people who are so cheerful and so happy it’s sickening constantly. It’s like they are wound up every morning, created to make people smile as they walk and talk. Thank God I have the job I do. It’s my distraction from all that. Real pain, real people. I’m an RN nurse at a hospital a little closer to San Francisco.
Anyway, this market was a little larger than small, and constantly crowded. Even 9 at night you will still be standing in a 10 minute check out line. After all it’s the only market within 15 miles of this area.
I stepped out of the car, locking it behind me. I pulled out my earbuds, plugging in my ipod. Music is everything to me. If it’s not playing, I’m asleep.
I got inside and pulled a cart out of the stack, pulling a grocery list out of my purse. If I don’t follow the list I end up coming home with 3 boxes of doughnuts, an Ipad, a puppy and a new boat.
I pushed the cart down the isle of cold food, pulling my hoodie a little closer over my shoulders. Walking up and down the isles, bobbing my head to the beat of whatever was playing. Down aisle 8, I felt my phone vibrate. I answered it before looking to see who it was.
“Hello?”
“Hey mom!” I smiled at my sons familiar voice.
“Hey baby! How are you?”
“I’m good, how was work?”
“Normal. Listen, I’m at the market. Is there anything we need that I don’t already have on the list?”
“Uh yeah, Lauren just said that we’re out of her apricot jelly.”
“Okay. I’ll pick you up in an hour or so. Okay?”
“Okay mom! Love you!”
“Love you too.”
I hung up and continued shopping, moving a little faster. My son was an 8th grader and my daughter a 6th grader. They attended Madison Middle School, about 3 miles away from our house. I picked them up every day after school on the way home from work.
I grabbed a package of bread, gently putting it in the cart. I heard a murmuring and looked over. An elderly man and his wife were debating on what kind of peanut butter to get. I rolled my eyes and increased my volume by a few levels. If I hadn’t, I would have heard the gunshots on the other side of the store. It took me 7 minutes, walking up and down aisles to realize that things had gotten quiet. I took an earbud out, trying to hear something. Everything was perfectly quiet. I paused my music, putting away my ipod. I left my cart, pulling my wallet blindly out of my purse, putting it in my backpocket. I walked down the aisle, then took a left. I looked down each row, trying to find someone. No one was at the cash registers, the familiar beeping silent. I walked all the way back to the cold section of the store when suddenly, a man walked out of an aisle. I gasped and jumped into an aisle out of fear. I peeked around the corner to get a better look and saw...not a man, but a boy. He was maybe 17. And in his hands, a large, black machine gun.
I bit my knuckle, any other sense in my body gone. I couldn’t breathe. I slid to the ground, trying to decide what to do. I looked to the right and saw the front of the building. I could easily just leave. All I’d have to do is continue going down the aisle I’m already on and bolt out the door.
I put my hand on the cold ground, and started pushing on the floor, when I felt something cold and hard touch the back of my head.
“Do anything and I’ll kill you.”
I turned slowly to see the boy holding his gun right against my head. I put my hands up, showing him I had no intention of doing anything. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me up. He was much stronger than he looked. He shoved me in front of him, pushing the back of his gun in my lower back.
“Put your hands on your head.”
I did so and he made me walk. He led me down to the freezer area for me to find everyone in the store pushed into a corner. Everyone was sitting with their tied hands around their knees, a piece of cloth tied between their teeth. There were at least 60 people huddled and thrown into this corner. I felt someone grab my wrists, tying my hands together. Tears filled my eyes as a piece of cloth was tied around my head tightly, making it impossible for me to talk. I was turned to face someone. She was about 16. Orange hair and big blue eyes filled with fire. She pushed me hard enough to fall on the floor, landing on my tailbone. I let out a squeal, not able to properly cry. I attempted sitting up, but without your hands it’s quite hard. I managed to get in a sitting position right before the girl took my arms and wrapped them around my knees like all the others. I turned and saw a little girl, about 6, bawling and breathing frantically. I assumed the man next to her was her father, for he was giving her a look like he had been crushed, like his heart was breaking in his chest. He scooted closer to her and the girl rested her head on his knee. He couldn’t comfort her. More tears rolled down my cheek.
“The store is clear.” We all turned to see another girl, 18 with brown hair walk up to us, a large gun in hand. The boy smiled and turned to us.
“So that you’re not in the dark, even though you will be in a few moments, we would like to tell you why we’re here. What we’re doing.” He had a smirk on his face, as if he enjoyed seeing all of us scared out of our wits. “We are the Hetria. A group that spreads the word. Not God. God is a cowardly bastard that does whatever he wants. We believe that it’s the other guy that should be ruling. Lucifer is the reason we’re here. Lucifer doesn’t lie, he doesn’t cheat.”
Now, at this point, I was thinking one thing. What on earth?? Who taught these kids the bible?? I don’t even believe in God and I know that that’s not true...
“So we’re here to show people what’s right.” The boy suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the little girl next to me, lifting her off her feet. She screamed and the dad moved frantically, only to fall onto his side. He cried and yelled as loud as he could before a girl came over and hit him in the head with the butt of her gun. He went silent. He didn’t move. I jumped when I heard the crunch and couldn’t stop staring at the bump growing where she hit him.
The boy laughed and took the girl out of the room. The thought of what he was going to do made my stomach turn. The orange haired girl stood in front of us, putting all her weight on one leg. She smiled and scoffed, turning toward the other girl. She turned back and sighed. “While he goes off, we’re going to tell you what we’re going to do.”
“In about 20 minutes,” the other girl started, “people are going to start realising that it’s kind of weird the doors to the market are closed, and that the parking lot is almost full. At that same time, we’re going to set a device on the store electric room that has every security camera, electric box, lock, whatever, that is in or outside of this store.”
“And this device makes every single one of those cameras, electric boxes, lock, whatever turn off. It’s also attached to a bomb.” At the word of bomb, we all gasped, and started crying more. I just tried to focus on what the girls were saying. “After setting up this bomb and device, the three of us will stand in front of the door, guns in hand,” the orange girl laughed and hoisted her gun onto her shoulder, “and if anyone leaves, comes, or tries anything, we will shoot off a gun.”
“And ladies and gentlemen,” the brunette stepped forward, smiling at us, “the sound of a gun is what triggers the device, which triggers the bomb that could destroy half of this puny, horrid, stereotypical town.” Everyone except me and a few other people started panicking, moving as much as they could and crying through their mouth binds. As for me, I silently let tears roll down my cheeks, but was afraid to move.
We sat there with the sound of cries but nothing else for 17 minutes. I had nothing better to do other than watch the clock on the opposite wall. I mean, it’s better than sitting there and worrying. Anyway, when the clock hit about 17 and a half minutes, the boy walked out again, without the girl. I turned to the dad and his entire body froze. He had woken up about 12 minutes ago, a large purple bump on the side of his head.
“Well ladies and gents, I’m sure the girls informed you of our plan. We’re going to go set up, and enjoy the last few moments of your life.” He nodded and smiled, walking out of the aisle with the other two girls. They all had a large gun somewhere in their hands.
What kind of a country did we live in, where kids as young as them could go out and buy such large guns? Even if they didn’t buy them, how did they get their hands on them?
The next 47 minutes was like a slow motion movie. Every second that ticked by felt like forever, and I wasn’t the only one. We all shared glances. Watching each other, trying to communicate with each other without speaking. It didn’t go very well. All that we could share was a worried glance, red eyes, running noses. It only made time go that much slower.
Suddenly, we heard a small noise, barley clear enough to hear it.
“Give....please just let....if you let..go, we’ll....no harm...women...go.”
It sounded like a police plea *what I call it* through a megaphone. Suddenly, a phone rang. We all looked at a teenage girl, mascara running down her cheeks. She looked up with a terrified glance.
“I TOLD YOU TO CHECK THEM YOU SLUT!” We heard a slap and a loud thud, followed by a groan. Then hushed ‘I’m sorry’s. Suddenly the boy came up to us, looking for the person with the ringing phone. He eyed the teenage girl and she glanced at him with terrified eyes. He smirked and picked her up by her arm. He put his face close to hers, lips inches apart. He sighed and put his hand on her lower back. She cried, trying to turn away from him. He slid his hand down her back into her pocket, taking her phone out slowly. She whimpered as he laughed, throwing her back onto the ground. I tried to scoot to her to help her, but he shot me a glare that I sent right back. He turned on his heel and left.
The girl gave me a look that killed, and sat up on her own. Another 17 minutes. The torturing tick and red hand, making my heart jump with each loud click of the gears was our only escape. It was now 3:47. I was supposed to pick up the kids 27 minutes ago. Tears swelled my eyes at the thought of never seeing them again.
“Oh my God!” We all turned in surprise to see a little boy, about 13, stand up. “I’m free! I'm loose!” We all started crying as his face lit up. We were free! We had a chance!
A woman turned her back to him, indicating for him to untie her. He looked at her hands, then at us and...scoffed? “I’m leaving!” He turned and started running down the aisle as we all silently screamed at him.
Within 25 seconds a girl returned, the boy unconscious in her arms. She tied his limp body up again, and turned to us with a red face. “If any of you try something that stupid again, we won’t hesitate to set off a gun.”
She spun on her heel just as the boy did, leaving us once again.
15 minutes.
2 minutes.
7 minutes.
34 seconds.
Then glass shattering. We all jumped as the sound of loud voices filled the front of the store.
It all happened so fast.
I had almost forgotten what was going on. I had finally been able to put my mind somewhere else. Then I opened my eyes to see the red hand hit 34 seconds. Right as it did, the glass shattered. One second, half a second, .5 ths of a second, and it ended.
People have asked before what it was like to see/be inside an explosion. It wasn’t anything like I imagined. I saw no flame. I saw blackness. Every pain I’ve ever felt, every invisible weight I didn't even know that had been resting on my shoulders was lifted. It felt as if a giant gust of wind slapped me gently, and then I could feel my skin and my soul separate.
I could feel all the others too. All the souls that died around me. Well, some of them. Some seemed to become stronger, as if the flame and death gave them power. But some seemed to shrivel and die, rotting away into a dark corner.
Mine you ask? I’m not sure. It was strange to not feel my own body. It felt as if my heart was just laying there, not sure what to do but be relaxed. It just continued to live without beating.
What happened next will always be a mystery to me. It was a dream, a vision, a flashback, a pain, all at once. It came in quick flashes, though I could watch it like a movie.
There was an old tv in the middle of a dark space. I could only see the curved sides. Smoke and ash covered the screen. However, the screen and ash was in the picture, not on the tv. There was a news caption to it.
3 teenagers overtake large market, killing 40-60 people and themselves in explosion
Then the tv switched channels and I saw black and white pictures of everyone that died. The 13 year old boy. The father and his daughter. The teenage girl. The old couple fighting over peanut butter. The three teenagers were shown last, with the words ‘We forgive you’ printed at the bottom of each one. I was never shown. Because I already knew I was dead. I think.
The tv switched one more time, and it was the confirmation of my thoughts. It was like I was watching it. My husband, my daughter in his arms, my son holding his other hand. They stood at a grave. It was sunny. Gorgeous. Just the way I wanted it to be. She started crying and my husband kneeled down. He smiled and said, “Come on. We know mommy wouldn’t want us sad. Let’s celebrate the life she had, instead of the one she lost.” My daughter nodded but continued crying. My son wiped away his tears and stood up straight.
“You’re absolutely right dad. That’s exactly what she’d want.”
At that moment, I could feel my heart. It didn’t just lay there anymore. It felt a release. The dark corner disappeared. All the feeling fled back and things made sense.
I died in a bombing. As did 58 *later to be found out* people. To the world, I was just another person in that 58. But to my husband, my daughter, my son, and every life I’ve ever touched, I was more than that.
this story is dedicated to anyone who’s ever survived, witnessed, and passed in a bombing.
It’s also dedicated to all t
hose who think and commit suicide. Before you make that decision, please. Think of how the world will see it.
Then think of all those lives you’ve touched.
And how they see it.
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