A DREAM EXCERPT FROM PREFACE TO A SUICIDE BY STEPHEN MORAN
Sirens rip the afternoon sky, forcing me to cover my ears. The beautiful fall afternoon turns into a zoo of residents running and screaming, pushing and shoving each other to escape the detonation near the bus station. Smoke billows from a RIPTA bus and I watch the driver stagger from the door, falling into a bloody heap on the pavement. Rushing forward against the grain of seething humanity, I scan the twisted wreckage for sign of her, but can’t see anything in the black plumes.
A hand grips my arm, a policeman attempting to keep me from the scene. Fighting to pull my arm free, I scream her name.
“You mean, terrorist!” The cop responds, slapping cuffs on my wrists. “You have the right to remain silent and go to jail for the rest of your life.”
My brother exits the bus carrying a body and I can see the blood stains streaking blonde hair in the sunlight. Ryan approaches us and the cop laughs and laughs.
“You did this to her,” Ryan says.
The cop pulls me towards a cruiser and locks me in the back seat. When the door shuts, Ryan appears next to me, wounds covering his upper torso.
“What happened? How did the bomb detonate?” I ask, but I know before Ryan answers.
“I pushed the button, Ray. You always knew it would end this way.”
The cop presses the accelerator and careens out of Kennedy Plaza at breakneck speed, striking several screaming citizens attempting to escape the carnage.
“No!” I scream. “Stop the car. I didn’t do it.”
Looking from the cop to my side once more, Ryan is no longer beside me. I am alone and within moments the cop screeches the car to a stop outside police headquarters.
“No!” I scream again.
The Terrorist of Providence Street
Inside one writer's mind exists a hall of mirrors. Is he the creator-or a character? Is his work fiction-or a manifesto? And who set off the bomb in the middle of the city?
Take a journey into the thoughts of a madman that snaps on society.