Like so many families that lost their homes, here finally, was retribution. Not divine, but deliberate and delivered. If we cannot have home, neither can you...
The firemen gazed in awe as the paint burst into flames, the fire so hot it made other buildings smoulder. What had been used to create such a high intensity burn? Such a lasting fire... what was the accelerant?
For the police, who cared nothing for human life, there was a different question. Who had started it? Whoever had dared to challenge the systems of oppression must be stopped! The police searched the site for days, scanning rubble. finally finding evidence of white phosphorus and finger prints. The police waited for weeks to get back the DNA sample. It was questionable who had done it, but the bomber had been careless, leaving evidence, or perhaps deliberate. In any event, the self-appointed authorities of the state suspected a culprit and went cautiously, at an early hour to his registered home. Just as they arrived the sprinkler system went off.
The officers were on edge--was this a timer or an early alarm? Dressed in black, the officers came forward and silently brought up the battering ram. SWAT members sat behind the neighbors' fences.
There was only one door to the house and a few small windows.
BANG!*!#! the door jarred under the pressure. but didn't budge. The officers were shocked the lock should have snapped under the pressure! The snipers got twitchy, what was behind that door?
They stared at the giant cement wall that stood before them. It didn't move. What was going on? As the day progressed, they tried to fire tear-gas into the house, only to find that the windows had cement behind their glass and drawn blinds. What was this place?
They called in a jackhammer and began to break the wall, little by little grinding in a solid wall of cement. !!!!!
BOOM!!!! There was an explosion, and the jackhammer fell, its owner knocked backwards 7 feet!
The police bristled, sweat from the day's heat now building on their brows, under shiny black uniforms and streaking down their cheeks. The nervousness multiplied by bombs buried in a cement wall further scared them and did not ease their sweating brows...
The day wore on the bomb squad, using a jackhammer, and minor explosives to grind into the wall. The state's minions ran into metal tubes securing the wall. This section was a door! They cut the metal tubes and tried to open it... no luck. They kept grinding, using explosives. Another bomb went off, precious equipment destroyed. Who was this person who had locked himself in a cement building, with bombs imbedded in the walls?!?
The grinding continued well into the afternoon until the far side had been reached and the police stormed in. The house was empty, though it looked lived-in. In the hours it took for the police to dig through the wall. The woman crawled out the tunnel she had dug before the bombing and escaped to one of several safe houses.
Hours earlier, during the raid, she had looked back on her old street, now blocked by police. The sunlight glinted off a gutter, that shining light would be her last memory of that beautiful place she called home. But oppression will steal what you love. They have the legitimate use of authority after all. As she drove away, she marvelled at the three bombs about to go off, the interior ministry, another banker... maybe there would be more. She thought, because you may find me in prison, or see me on TV; I'll say 'The sunlight dragged me here'!