Today’s prompt has myriad possibilities. So many things can be stolen from us; some are merely annoying, while others can have a devastating effect.
Richard Stevenson knelt beside the headstone of his beloved wife, Carrie, and wept openly and unashamedly. It had only been three weeks since his pregnant twenty-four year old bride had been stolen from him, yet already it felt so much longer. They would have been celebrating their second wedding anniversary that day; the bouquet he placed against her memorial was peppered with red roses, just like the ones she’d carried down the aisle.
He couldn’t bear to think of the events of that fateful day – it filled him with a primal rage and no one to direct it at – instead his grief was littered with ‘if only’s’.
If only the bomb on the underground hadn’t forced her to take that bus.
If only she hadn’t gone to work earlier than normal.
If only the suicide bombers had changed their minds and decided not to steal so many innocent lives.
But the suicide bombers had detonated three bombs on the underground, forcing stations to be evacuated and commuters onto buses. And not satisfied with the devastation caused below ground, the terrorists exploded one on the very bus his beautiful Carrie had been obliged to take.
Richard’s anguish was absolute.