Inferno

From the point of view of a suicide bomber.

You grow up with whispers hissed in your ear. Dark things, terrible things. You grow up surrounded by hate. It festers and grows in your heart. All you know is anger, and fear.

You turn thirteen. A new man comes, and tells you of duty, and honor, and glory. To go out in a beautiful fiery blast, he says, would be the best way to die. And you believe him.

Your life is but a tool for the great gods above, and below. Your body is but a medium for justice to be carried out. You are nothing. This you know.

When the time comes, you climb aboard a plane. Your fingers twitch in helpless anticipation for what is to come. You are both afraid and excited. The flight begins.

Later as you descend through the clouds, you can hear shouts behind you. A scuffle ensues. It is no matter. You are focused on the one task to be completed. Your last act.

The tower draws nearer. Your hands shake, but you continue. You are very, very afraid, and very, very excited. This will fulfill your duty. This will prove your honor. This will bring you glory.

You only have time to hear an indescribable noise- a boom and a crack and everything in between- and catch a glimpse of brilliant flaming red, before you know no more.