The child who promised his mother he would be home soon, the woman whose aged parents were waiting for her return, the activist whose wife had pleaded with him not to go that morning, the clueless merrymakers roaming the gardens; people. Old, young, clueless, unnamed. They didn't deserve it. Yet here we are, a hundred years later, still comprehending thousands of massacres, thousands of deaths, and several families destroyed. For the borders. For the ego of a nation that thought the sun never set on them. For humanity's loop of violence.
Suranya.