The explosion rocked Belfast like none the city had ever known. Those who were not thrown from their footprints were either closer and dead, or further and stunned. A hushed silence followed as the citizenry checked themselves, then their surroundings. Everyone had wide eyes and furrowed brows. People went from looking at each other to looking at familiar structures - still standing but almost appearing to be trembling in the aftermath, each surrounded by a haze of dust that shook loose everywhere at once, some with shattered windows. Then with hope desiccated anew, these denizens directed their collective gaze to the ash and smoke now rising from town center. The warm red glow at the base of the city's own cloud was anything but cheery.
Some gathered now to talk, but softly; some did a slow pirouette as they turned in their doorways to return to the diminishing safety of their homes, to catch the report on television. Others began moving toward the scene of the blast. All were ghostly quiet and seemed to be willing themselves to move, but softly, so as not to attract the attention of the terrorists or of those terrified. There would be retaliation.
