Like a think heavy pregnant cloud the smoke engulfed the shells, in the shells is a life, a life of a people, like firewood socked in petroleum gas fuel a life is reduced to ashes, like black sculptures bodies are scattered everywhere, oh it is a real public gallery with human bodies scattered allover the scene. The scene is like “scene from hell” at fast I thought I was watching a holy-hood horror movie “the return of the living dead” like the holy-hood stunt masters fighting a loosing battle in a hell of fire to make money, the people battling the hell of fire to save a life, their lives. For the first time in my life a saw a “walking fire-wood”

Like a ghost fire following the trails of its prey socked in its scent the horrific fire destroyed every living soul, innocent children playing football, women and men both young and old went on flames. Shoppers running for their precious commodity “life “are branded thieves, looters and shoplifters, locked in the oven of the shell, they run to the press and say there is no body in the burning shell every body was evacuated, let us save bread and the melting ice cream, yet when the fire dies, they collect bodies from the shells.

Ok the dead can not learn a lesson, the living will never learn a lesson, we still rash to the horrific scenes to certisfy our thirst. While a people sleep on empty stomachs, they drain the maize granaries in their pockets, and they fuel their pockets. They eat like termites straggling to bring a hart down, then vomits without shame and greedily returns to the vomit, yet we expect the a people to be saints.

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