The Aftermath

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Again. Paris, again. Twice in ten months, caught unawares in what Pope Francis called piece-meal World War Three. They did not know they were soldiers, the innocent people attending a rock concert or sitting with a friend at a restaurant to have a meal or just a drink, to talk about their lives, and fans at a sporting event. Screams followed gun fire and exploding hand grenades, eventually, suicide belts of explosives as some of the invading terrorists threw their own lives away as they sacrificed people they never even knew.

Struggling to tell what she saw, one girl spoke the words broken by involuntary tears, another spoke in the abnormally high pitch of shock as she reported her experience. Soon there were videos of the lost memorialized by loved ones. One young man lost two sisters, their photo: two vivacious, attractive, fashionable young women, one the mother of two children.

A shudder, weeping, a hollow silence as the city of Paris mourns officially for three days and the borders are closed in an effort to keep any of the perpetrators from slipping out of the country. Heaps of flowers and tiny glowing candles at the sites of the carnage. All of the war-weary of the world extend their sympathy to France for their horrific night on Friday, November 13, 2015. In response to the attack France sent ten war planes to bomb the city of Raqqa in Syria, known to be the headquarters of the brutal terrorist group, for two days and destroyed all of its targets.

 

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