1 July 2008 | Esquire UK
To the driver of the train coming in the opposite direction, the explosion is silent. A billow of light, then his windshield shatters.
To those in the carriage with the bomb, the noise is thunder trapped in a chamber, something almighty. So loud it seems sound itself is picking people up and slamming them against the floor, sucking shattered glass through space. In an instant, those packed closest to the blast become weapons themselves, their bodies riding the concussion wave, their bones becoming shrapnel piercing the bodies of others. The carriage fills with dust so thick it is hard to breath, and for a moment, nobody screams, because they think they are drowning.
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