A week after; they still come in a pilgrimage like at a sacrificial shrine; in disbelief; tears in their eyes; pain in their souls; broken hearts; no words; cars driving quietly around; silence; the young and beautiful souls that perished in the blaze; brilliant minds in an elated spirit.
Their sons and daughters who used to go there; some even that night; some used to go but now are long gone; Silicon Valley or Europe; they could have been there also.
How could it happen? the same question, on and on; how could the sponge fire spread so quickly? same question on everybody’s lips; same question on the officials’ lips; conspiracy; was the sponge impregnated with flammable liquids? or it was just the detergent used to wash it? but the fireworks were supposed to be burning cold; just to trigger the events in University Square? to change the government? who is behind all this?
They still come and stare lost in thoughts; their place of joy murdered their soul mates; even the souls they never knew; but they were them; they are always them; inside the club in spirit with them but somehow still alive. Disbelief and sorrow.