Lancashire TelegraphBomb (From Lancashire Telegraph)

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Bomb

The rain hadn't stopped for three days, but impacted, I could smell the chard flesh engulfing the air, violating the mouth.

Within seconds I could see the scrambling arms, pushing away debris, exposing butchered wounds, and reaching out for some sign of humanity.

The discordant sounds of breaking glass, punched irregularly by explosions of gas, with a grotesque harmony of screams.

My fractured sense of the day, I ricocheted through the crumbled rumble griping the nearest hand in empathy.

Cold, and covered in dirt, dust, and dark blood, the hand trembled and clawed with adrenaline. As I pushed, I pulled.

My free arm digging and scooping, in the confusion of additional collapsing pipes, itself became lodged under the weight of a fallen lintel, and my foundations shattered and buckled with the pain.

Fingers were no more, as contact was lost, all navigation had gone, and as the agony grew, my eyes became instinctual in desperation.

Shrapnel pierced the air, as my ears collapsed with sound.

As my eyes began to close, my face burn, I could feel the water dripping off my nose, my chin, and into my tired eyes.

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