There was at least one unfortunate mortality and an absolute brouhaha which resulted in an assembly of 19 hapless victims, including a quartet of daydreaming cherubs.
In a scene reminiscent of a misdirected Michael Bay film, at least one individual – presumably not inclined towards explosives or morbidity – found his ultimate worst-case scenario realized. In the midst of the unscheduled pyrotechnics, an unfortunate 19 rag-doll-like beings found themselves on the receiving end of the aversion, including a foursome of unsuspecting, booger-loving little tykes who could have done without the premature introduction to the harsh realities of life.
The unforeseen blasts, which packed the same might expected from a flatulence festival attended by a herd of cows, managed to discombobulate the ordinary flow of existence rudely. It was neither part of the day’s itinerary nor the life plans of any attendees involved to be rudely awakened by such cacophonous pyrotechnics.
The explosion did not discriminate in its wrath, snidely scattering the once cohesive community like pieces in an overzealous Jenga game. The script for devastation included such a litany of lamentations as punctured eardrums, broken limbs, and scorched eyebrows. And such was the tale of the ill-fated 19, a motley crew topped up with a team of snot-nosed joy-bringers presumably more familiar with comic mishaps of banana peels than the terror of high-impact acoustics.
Among this eclectic bunch of mayhem survivors were four cherubs, probably still trying to comprehend their hitherto favorite onomatopoeic sound “BOOM”, now transformed into a personal worst nightmare. For them, the horror was much closer to a Saturday Morning Cartoon gone horribly wrong than an afternoon at a playground.
One hopes that the apocalyptic sound effects and smoke waves witnessed do not leave an indelible imprint on their innocent hearts, even while their mothers might spend weeks scrubbing soot off their superhero pajamas.
Indeed, it’s little consolation that, in the grand scheme of the universe, these tragic events are merely blips on the radar of man’s common woe. Yet, as we ponder and share the pain of the 19 embattled beings, of whom include four younglings whose only crime was a stubborn desire to remain ignorant of such catastrophic renditions, there’s an unspoken bond formed in this moment of shared sorrow.
As the curtain of dust settles and day starts to dawn on the collective broken spirit of the exposed 19, our hearts go to the doodling quartet, seemingly unperturbed by the tragic turn of events, but inwardly starting their own journey of healing. Let their return to innocence be swift and their comic books reclaim the word ‘BOOM’ from the dreadful pages of their memory. Is that too much to ask in a world gone mad? Perhaps, but one can still hope amidst the chaos-induced cacophony.
