We Are All Suicide Bombers

You, sir, are a suicide bomber. You, ma'am, carry a bomb everywhere you go. You made this bomb a long time ago. Your parents provided the parts. You put it together. Your friends gave you the timer. Your family has the detonator. You have the detonator. We have the detonator. You are a walking suicide bomber.

The bomb is strapped to you always. No matter how hard you try, you can never ever get rid of it. Not you, not me, not the most elite FBI Bomb Squad and most certainly not Rowan Atkinson. There is, however, only one way to remove it. And that is to detonate it. But if you detonate it, you will lose yourself. Lose your friends. Lose your family. And everyone around you will be in shock and pain. The only way to get rid of the bomb is to get rid of yourself. For that is the job, the call, the duty of a suicide bomber. You are that suicide bomber.

For what is a suicide bomber without a legitimate cause? Some do it for a promise of heaven. Some for freedom. Some for release. Some out of anger. Some out of sheer poverty. Some out of abject despair. What is your cause? Do you know what you're fighting for? Why you're carrying that bomb?

When and where are you going to strike? If you're even striking at all. You are a walking time bomb. You strut day by day, in and out, you see so many potential targets around you. And each time you do, you feel that burden deep within you. The call of the red button. It's flashing isn't it? It has been flashing for a very long time now. So long ago, you can't even remember. You can feel the fuses rub against your chest. The bomb straps lying heavy on your shoulder. The tiny wires twisted around, tickling your arms.

And as you go along, you see the others all around you. They disappear one by one. Their bombs go off in different areas, for different reasons to different people. With each explosion you feel your heart wrench, knowing that any time now, will be your turn. The red button has been flashing for a long time. People you know suddenly vanish, the bombs go off. Some in vain, some with success, some with disaster, but all of them leaves you with an increasing sense of hopelessness. Like a never-ending tunnel with no doors, no windows and no lights.

But that day eventually comes. When the call of the red button deafens your ears. It pounds within the very compounds of your head with a nonstop overwhelming urge. You can feel it pulsing at your temples. The constant loud knocks at a huge wooden door, it never stops. Your pace quickens and you start to feel dizzy, nauseous, lost. The red light flashes with eternal dread. It's so much heavier now. So much more painful you can hardly breathe. Beads of sweat form on your forehead and you begin to realise how foolish this has all been. You begin to know, not just think anymore, know, that it has all been in vain. You know what you must do. The red button calls.

All you see is a flash. There was no pain. No fear. No sounds. No hatred, anger, bitterness. Nothing. Just a white light and then. You're gone.

For we are all suicide bombers. And you, my friend, are the biggest one.

Written by StateofNonsense.blogspot.com