A warm, summer breeze rolled on as several children play in a vacant neighborhood street. The children giggle and run around each other playing through imagination. The aroma of warm, crisp apple pie fill the children's lungs making their mouth water as their game comes to a halt. From a neighbor's home in the vicinity, a voice calls the children to come and eat. They rush to enjoy their tasty treat.
As the children eat, the doorbell rings over the sound of chatting and laughter. One of the children's mothers stood up and walked towards the front door. A loud bang produced from the front porch followed by a crash and glass shattering on a creaking wooden floor. The mothers, instinctively, grab their children by their arms and approach the enigmatic sound.
A faint clicking sound filled the silent room. As the mothers and children's faces fill with a puzzling worry, a series of intense explosions and skin searing flames engulf the house and neighboring homes.
Pondering, I myself know what really happened that day. Was it the creation of an evil or beginning of the end?
This wasn't murder; I only blame myself for this! I was one of these children: innocent at heart and isolated from the truths. Or was I?