Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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Following the short press conference, in which Arthur and Alfred stood behind the English leader, the men were led out to a black limo, no doubt one of their most secure vehicles for this time of disaster. Arthur questioned his boss on their destination.
“We’re going to Tavistock Square; a packed double decker bus was blown up there. It’s not confirmed, but some believe the culprit to be a suicide bomber.”
Time stopped for England when he heard those words. An icy feeling wormed it’s way throughout his whole body and he couldn’t even bring himself to blink. Suicide bombers… that meant…he had been right. This had not been a mistake- it had been a deliberate attack on Britain. His stomach started doing flips at the shock so he gripped his middle and leant over his knees. It was almost too horrible of a thought to bear. ‘Who would do this? Who would-’ But England was cut off from his thoughts when he felt warm hands rubbing his back soothingly. Alfred was leaned over near him, whispering softly in his ear.
“Arthur, I’m so sorry…”
And then it hit England like a ton of bricks. America. America had his happen to him before. Those people had been from-
“Oh, good lord. I can’t believe this. This can’t be happening…” Arthur began shaking his head, trying to hold back the tears. The Nation felt another hand, this time on his shoulder.
“I know, Arthur,” his boss sounded stunned. “I’ve been blindsided by this. I can only imagine the turmoil you must be experiencing.”
His boss was right, it wasn’t even a sharp or extreme pain anymore, just an overwhelming, full body ache. He, England’s personification, could feel them all clearly, all of his people’s emotions. He felt them crying and sobbing as bloodied bodies were carried out on stretchers from the depths of a tunnel. He felt the injured limping through crowded hospitals and medical tents, to shocked to show any emotion. And the dead, oh the dead, he could feel their cold skin and see their blank eyes, their features forever twisted in agony as it was the last emotion they experienced. He felt like throwing up, and Arthur probably would of if the car had not stopped and the door opened. Brought back to reality by the stench of burned metal and smoldering electric wiring, the blonde man stepped out of the car and was horrified at the scene that met his eyes.
Directly in front of him was what was once a two-story bus; however, the top part of the bus was completely gone, only the melted ends of metal a testament to the fact that it had been there in the first place. Many of the windows of the bottom were either blown out or only fragments remained. The back of the bus looked akin to an opened box- the side panels of the bus were splayed out more than 90 degrees like the panel flaps on a cardboard box. He was looking at the bus from the back, but if Arthur glanced beyond he could see another panel, easily over three meters long, that lay beyond the bus, completely blown off by the blast.
Policemen in reflective yellow jackets stood around speaking to each other while a few news reporters walked around the devastated vehicle snapping pictures. Debris were all over the ground, from shattered glass to grotesquely twisted metal rods, and England thought he might have even seen a slightly burnt woman’s purse lying about the wreckage. Luckily, by the time he arrived the scene, there were no injured or dead in the area; however, that dark spot peeking out from under the metal scraps may or may not have been a dried pool of blood. He decided not to focus on it.
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