
I’m going with a group of my journalist colleagues to select an invitation card for my wedding. The lady in the shop starts to show me the cards, and then…Boom!A missile explodes across the street, The mostly residential road of Al-Khidma Al-Ammah turns black. A fireball the size of a small car shoots down the middle of the street, dissipating nearly 100 feet away. Dust, grease and concrete rain down as residents of the area rush toward any shelter they can find. But none exists. As the breeze parts the black cloud, an ominous vision emerges. A car is engulfed in flames, its Kia logo barely visible, the metal liquefying from the heat. Inside the occupants burn. The smoke, fueled by oil, petrol and rubber grows denser and black. It smells of burning tar mixed with flesh.Onlookers stare, ears ringing from the blast. Others move toward the burning car to help survivors – if there are any. As they approach a macabre patchwork of severed limbs and disemboweled entrails greet them. Moving closer, there’s a portion of someone’s head. On a nearby building, four stories up, a scrap of unidentifiable flesh sticks to the wall – a testament to the awesome power of the missile blast.Residents of the street rush into their homes, each grabbing buckets of water. Women run carrying children away from the terror. The first ambulance arrives, and the Kia continues to burn. Not much can be done for the victims inside. They’re dead.
Annoncering
Annoncering
