fearful explosions

They planted explosives under the produce. The store is open. Now they are tracing spools of thick orange wire across the distant isles. This isn’t a covert operation, but people aren’t paying any attention. I see them however, and a deep sorrowful pain rises in my stomach — I know what they are going to do. And I know they are planning on doing it at a time that will yield the most damage. I pace the isles, keeping my eye on them. I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk. My anxiety has gotten the best of me. So I just watch in terror as they work methodically, without emotion. Why are my friends doing this? The fear rises from my stomach to my head, my eyes open.  ♨


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