Prelude

Walking into the building, that building, is something strange that I never knew I would ever do. Two days after. Only two days since the explosion. Fire, wreckage, destruction – all because no one realizes the price that one human life can have on a nation. Walking through Satan's playground, since driving was impossible in this disarray, I looked around me and saw not madness or anger, not perversion and revenge, but sadness and grief, sorrow and tears. The men surrounding me, if creatures capable of this can be called men, and the boots of my own creature, kept me from falling down and weeping for carnage surrounding me. Suddenly we stop, to my left, a burnt out building, my right, same, behind me, shattered glass, in front of me, the gates of hell. To the left we trudge on, into the carnage of what used to be called a building, and we examine the remains, keeping out mind on our objective. What is our objective? There must be one, otherwise why do we need to see these poor men, women, and children's souls ripped from their very bodies. Don't look down they tell us, it will only make you sick. Sick doesn't begin to describe what I feel. Something catches my eye though. On the ground it sits. A simple piece of cardboard with a black crayon next to it is all that's left. "Complete cooperation," is all which remains. Complete cooperation? Why does this entice me? I can't look at it long, for we must keep moving, moving through the tides of red gravel. Red from the soil, or possibly something else...