I draw my paycheque from the bank, feeling the weight of my bonus and salary in my hands. Today is a special day. I’ll donate a portion to charity. I have gifts in mind—a pair of earrings for my lovely wife, an embrace from her that I long to feel. I’ll buy a small car for my four-year-old boy and a doll for my nine-year-old girl. Tonight, I’ll throw a dinner for friends. The sense of diligence and honesty will shine through me. I feel alive, proud, and content.
Oh, how my life holds my hand, guiding me through these moments. Life feels so high, so sublime. I want to live a thousand years, to see my wife dressed up, to have all my weariness fade away when I look at my daughter’s innocent smile. In this beauteous land of dreams, I fly, I run, I dive into the future I’ve dreamed of—a home full of warmth, a family full of love.
A few more minutes, and I’ll be home. It’s a five-minute drive, and I’ll see my loved ones again. But in a cruel twist, all my dreams come crashing down to earth. My heaven is consumed by hell, as I reach my doorstep. I am met by the lifeless bodies of my children and wife. The ashes of my once-perfect home rise from the rubble.
I don’t know the bomber who did this. I know no love, no family anymore. In one moment, a thousand deaths consume me, each breath a scream of agony. My heart is broken, shattered with the broken chimes of my life, my world, reduced to dust in a fraction of a second.
That life, once so calm and full of promise, has been snatched away by the fire of hatred. This game of time, nebulous and unkind, offers no answers. Revenge has become my religion, bloodshed my mission. I know no relations, no joy, no peace. Only agony, only pain, which I long to end.
The ticking device beneath my shirt is my only companion. Four times, it will take lives. Four times, it will create fear where there was once life. In these mosques, temples, and shrines, I will bring death.
In a few seconds, my life, my hopes, my family, will be reduced to ash. People will hate me, curse me. The media will respond, but I will be forgotten. A suicide bomber, remembered only for the slaughter of humanity and values. No one will cry for the man who once had relations, once had love.
And so, I march towards the end, knowing the fire of hatred will claim me as its own.