Voices of the Hive

Flight 36 from Atlanta began its descent into the city’s international airport. The blue lights on the runway glimmered, inviting the airplane into the metropolis. The sun set over the city, marking the end of the day and welcoming the night. The vast sprawl of the area began to twinkle as the lights relieved the sun of its duty of illuminating civilization. Tall skyscrapers stood towering over the flat terrain, staring toward the great horizon, though not to the extent of suburbia’s grasp. Freeways glowed like rivers of headlights, as commuters battled on the pavement to be the first home. Gridlock overcame the city streets and arteries, the angry sound of curses and horns rose from the impatient motorists. The on-ramps were clogged as each impatient driver fought for a spot on the freeway. Traffic oozed like halogen lava to the distant bedroom communities and miniature cities throughout the metropolitan area. Every commuter focused on each respective, stressful life they lived, ignoring the decaying urban core around them. On the outskirts of downtown, many communities of ethnic groups and sub-cultures clustered. One neighborhood bore carnicerias, curanderas and abundant billboards in Spanish. Several communities were peppered about, bearing signs in the languages of eastern Asia. Each satellite of the Pacific Rim flaunted its home culture. One part of town flashed colorful signs with the syllabic blocks of hangeul, as the locals conversed in Korean. Another served citizens with menus and services scribed in Japanese. Yet another provided its locals with weekly publications in the ornate Chinese characters. Lofts and galleries meshed in an artist commune flanked by a huddled collection of boutiques, bars, clubs, restaurants and housing, marking the city’s gay district. Spiraling further from downtown proper, a synagogue adorned with Hebrew lettering faced the Jewish Community Center. Several blocks of the city acted as a small-scale Europe, presenting the languages of Rome, Berlin and Warsaw. Other such neighborhoods stood within the borders of the city. Each was a bastion to its people, offering them comfort and a sense of belonging. But most importantly, they provided them with a degree of protection. The inhabitants felt a greater sense of security in a place with a common, cultural foundation than in other parts of town. They were quasi asylums from the wilderness, the hinterlands of this vast metropolis. Far from the urban core, other denizens of the more homogenous suburbia surrounded the city like a pack of feral wolves, mostly not welcoming to the central city’s people, yet willing to venture within its diversified innards to bring food back to the den, preying upon its resources. The suburbs were truly the deadliest, most vicious areas of the great city. The sun had fully set and lights across the city burned brightly. Closer to the urban center a mass of people walked on the sidewalk in a unanimous direction. They came from all over, flocking to a central point. A haunting call beckoned them like a widespread hypnosis. They followed suit as lemmings to a cliff, closing in on this common location. It was a call to prayer, preached in Arabic. The masses came to worship Allah. The stately mosque was a jewel of the city. It was the only worship center for the city’s Muslims. A golden dome capped the white building and multiple minarets pierced the sky. Elaborate designs graced the house of worship. People filed into the mosque to pray in uniformity, Soon, the building was filled with over a hundred of Islam’s faithful. Pedestrians walked by outside, paying little attention to the mosque. The road outside was less trafficked this time of day and only an occasional car passed by. The mosque itself, though large, was situated roughly a quarter mile off the nearest major street. The nearby shops and restaurants offering Middle Eastern goods and fare had closed. Less the chanting followers inside and a few passers-by, the area was deserted and the seclusion of the mosque left the area quiet and peaceful. A roar rang out over this quiet neighborhood, as though thunder had fallen to Earth. The streetlights became dull in comparison to the bright burst of light. The mosque shattered as the explosion broke free from the walls of the building. The minarets toppled and large slabs of the building fell to surrounding grounds while lighter debris was flung high into the air and far from the disaster area. The force exerted from the blast shattered windows of nearby buildings. Flaming pieces fell all about like brimstone. A plume of thick smoke rose from the burning remains of the mosque as ash and cinders fluttered downward like hellish snow. The few survivors within screamed as their bodies burned. The fires within devoured the interior and all the followers of Allah. Those still inside, not instantly killed, who could divert their attention from panic prayed for the burning to cease. At last realizing they would be afforded no mercy, they prayed for a quick and painless death. Within minutes, the emergency forces of the city were dispatched to the flaming chaos. The deafening scream of the fire truck rang in the call to action. Firefighters acted quickly to extinguish the flames, which, due to the scattering from the explosion, had spread to nearby buildings. It was set to be a conflagration if immediate action was not taken. The sirens whined and blared as the police and medical teams came. Another fire truck raced to the devastation. The horn trumpeted, signaling its approach. The orchestra of horns and sirens played a horrific symphony of disaster, with the inner city as its audience. Following the emergency teams, members of the press flocked like vultures with pads of paper and pens, recorders, microphones and cameras. They preyed upon the scene like ghouls, each journalist competing for the better coverage. In the end, the destruction and tragedy was all the same. After an exhausting campaign against the flames, the fire had been defeated, the mosque was left in ruins and only a burnt mass of rubble was left in the fire’s wake. A group of onlookers gathered as a morbid audience to see the extent of damage. Though the mosque had been obliterated, the emergency team managed to save nearby houses and properties from the same fate, though there was damage to several other buildings. The scene continued late into the night as an investigation into the explosion began immediately. The crowd had rotated, some left and new viewers came, the paramedics found no survivors and the police coverage of the area thinned, leaving a barricade of yellow tape and a smaller force on guard. The initial belief had been arson, though the crime had been sickeningly intertwined with mass murder. Authorities continued to piece the puzzle together. Only a few hundred feet from the mosque was a vending machine, which sold newspapers. The day’s paper still sat in the box with the latest news. The headline read, “Car bomb in Iraq kills 6 US Troops.” The story of the explosion at the mosque attracted the attention of millions nationwide. The initial hunch gave way to confirmation that the event was an act of terrorism. Investigators discovered that a crude bomb had been placed in the ceiling and had been set to detonate during a prayer service to ensure mass casualties. Most sadly, not one faithful soul had survived the blast or fire. The mercy of Allah was naught amongst the followers within the mosque. Within a couple weeks it would become old news, and the public, having satisfied their sadistic craving for televised bloodshed, would grow bored of the devastation and all but forget the tragedy. Though for those who lived within the area it became an event, in the very least, as a backdrop in their lives.