The procession had finally reached its goal.
Ayda, the bride, and her new husband
turned to say good bye to their escort.
Almost every able-bodied resident
of Ayda’s village had made the ten-mile trip.
It was the biggest procession in fifty years.
Her father had a huge smile on his face.
Her mother was just as pleased.
It had turned out to be a glorious May day.
The most beautiful day all spring
Ayda was ecstatic.
The ceremony was perfect.
The whole village attended.
Even some of the boys
who had joined the fighters
returned to celebrate with their clan.
Ayda was amazed that so many people
would walk all that way
to wish the newlyweds a good wedding.
And yet, here they were,
with the return trip still ahead,
shouting out their good wishes.
Some of the young men added to the din
by firing their guns into the air.
Dawud was puffed up with pride.
He had just married the most
desirable woman in the next village.
His parents were pleased.
The envy on the other men’s faces
was proof of his success.
Life was good.
He beamed at the crowd.
That’s when the first bomb hit.
Three more followed in quick succession.
When the dust settled,
the roadway was a mass of bleeding,
moaning, crying, screaming,
and silent humanity.
The wedding present came with a signed card.
It read, “Mr & Mrs Taxpayer – Heartland, U.S.A.”
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