7.40am Sunday - HUGE bang somewhere in the city this morning. I shudder to think what might have happened. Having felt the shockwave from here, it made me think what it must be like to be near. Instant death fot those in the epicentre obviously, but on the periphery, they probably found themselves waking up maimed without even hearing the bang. Most of us are lucky enough never to actually hear a bomb going off, but (asssuming I just did) it's the shortness of the blast that surprises me. Hollywood movies have given us the impression that a blast is a prolonged noise, a thing of beauty to be lavishly viewed from six diferent angles over a period of seconds, but this was a sharp retort over in microseconds and, I imagine, not at all photogenic. I wonder which image was in the heads of the bomb-makers, and if Hollywood has a case to answer.
How can people do that remotely? Do they stay close enough to listen? Don't their stomachs turn over when it goes off? Don't they instantly feel remorse and rush to confess in an attempt to clear the conscience? If not, how monstrous are they? My faith in humanity is wobbling.
I hope I'm wrong and it wasn't a bomb.
Be good.
