Terror

1

This story is based on the Westminster bridge attack on 22 March 2017. Most of the events in this story are works of fiction, but the actual attack was not. Now onto the story. 

AKITA

I walked joyfully out of the restaurant, heading towards home. I had just secured myself my dream job, and my heart was bursting with happiness. After everything that had happened over the past few years, this was exactly what I needed. My big break. A chance to feel happy again, and to enjoy something that I had always wanted to do. My phone started buzzing in my pocket, bringing me back to the present. It was my husband.

"Hi honey", I said.

"Hi, how was your interview?" he asked.

"I got the job!" I exclaimed.

"Wow, that's amazing! Well done! I'm leaving work now, we will celebrate when I get home."

It would be so great to have something to celebrate, after so long in a state of despair. I could hear the note of sadness in his voice, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.

The tragedy of the past few years was just a blur of sadness and grief, and a constant lingering thought; why him? Why my son had to be there, what he did to deserve such a fate. We never even had a proper service for him, as his body was never found.

What I heard next jolted me, and would change my life forever. 

Before I could hang up, I heard the piercing sound of screeching car tyres, and the sound of gunshots. Multiple ear-splitting screams followed, and a shock ran through me, fierce as lightning. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening.

I spun back around towards the bridge, fearing the worst. I stopped dead when I reached it. It was a scene out of a horror movie, right before my eyes. Bodies were everywhere, the putrid, metallic smell of blood thick in the polluted London air.

I raced as fast as I could, wanting, no, needing, to help, to be useful, to make up for.... no. This was too much. I scrambled to try and help, but I didn't know how, and the tirade of memories was flowing too fast, a rushing outburst of haunting recollections. The ambulances were already there, the sirens bringing back memories that were even worse. That awful sound, along with the smell of the blood, the sight of all the victims, was way too much.

Countless civilians were already trying so hard to help, but I couldn't be one of them, the overwhelming wave of memories, sounds, smells, sights, were too much...

Without realising it, my phone was still in my hand, on the phone with my husband. His alarm was numbed out by the floodgates opened from the attacks almost two years ago. I looked around me, trying to shake myself from the memories, to bring me back.

Beside me, a lady was crying out for her husband. Her pain, clear as the diamond on her ring finger, her agony so dreadfully heartbreaking. I sat down next to her, trying to comfort her, to be of some support. A man, clearly her husband, was running towards her. I told him, as gently as I could, what had happened, and he sat down next to her to comfort her, already in tears. He was whispering words of comfort and love, and my heart broke, aching with sorrow and empathy. I knew exactly what it was like to lose someone so close to you. Tears were already falling down my own face as well, but I needed to leave the couple alone. I walked further along the bridge, knowing that I couldn't help anymore. I wiped away my tears and started to shakily walk home.

As I was walking along the bridge though, a fleeting image appeared through my tears, of a rather pudgy man with a camera around his neck, staring at me quizzically. He couldn't see tears, but I shuddered at what he did see, and more importantly, what he captured with the camera around his neck.

CHAZ

I looked around my cramped and filthy apartment, wondering where I went so wrong. The wallpaper was peeling and decrepit, the bare walls covered in dust. The sink was full of grimy dishes, remnants from many nights of cheap Chinese takeaway, and laziness on my behalf. I looked around to the heater, rusted from so many years of disuse. I shivered from the lack of the heat, wondering where I could possibly get enough money to pay the bills.

I had been through countless jobs, but have been fired as many times, and the excuses were always primed and ready. "Chaz, you don't take the customers seriously enough". "Chaz, you're just not the right person for the job". I could always see past the lies. It was my weight. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with a condition that makes overeating and not losing weight a real problem. People can't see past my weight, and that was what had caused my lack of money I got the place from a friend, who was kind enough to let me have the place a few years ago. It was in better condition then, though. People on the street always give me second glances, passing looks of thinly masked disgust.

~

As the walls were extremely thin between each apartment, I heard the news blaring from the TV next door. "Authorities are saying that the identity of the orchestrator of the attacks today is still to be confirmed, but they are working around the clock to hunt down the terrorist." They then proceeded to talk about tightening up security regarding Muslims coming in from the Middle East, as they always did when these kinds of things happened. I then had an incredible thought, one that could change my life. That day, amid the attacks, I had taken a picture of a Muslim woman walking right past the dying people beside her. If I shared this photo, I would receive fame from the press and media, glorious amounts of money for taking such a ground-breaking photo. This could be my breakthrough, albeit a huge one at this critical stage in life. I desperately needed something like this, and it was handed to me on a silver platter. I opened my laptop and started typing. Then, I just didn't know about the life-changing consequences one photo could have.