Never again will we let them terrorise our lives...
__
The Count von Count felt sick, his stomach cramping deep inside him. He forced himself not to remember. The death count was so high. Forget them. Think of the living. So much, he realised, to live for.
There were times, when horror strikes deepest, that hearts grew fondest. Bringing people together, uniting.
The Count squared his shoulders. Somebody needed him.
*^*^*^*
Miss Piggy traced her fingers across Kermit’s face in the screen. She wanted, wanted to cry out. Kermit…the things he had said. She needed to call him, needed him to hold her. She’d find a nurse. Kermit’s face faded from the screen. Miss Piggy felt an emptiness inside. Her fingertips stayed touching the glass. She loved him so much.
“Excuse me, Miss.”
She turned. A voice she knew, something familiar. Then a face, the Count von Count. He was here. The Count took her hand, and her lips trembled as she smiled through tears.
“Vot’s happened to you? Where vere you?” He pulled her into a hug, his formal exterior melting like the tears that melted against the soft, dirt struck skin of her face. Like the melted, scorched black plastic. Not now. Miss Piggy buried her head in his shoulder. He held her tight, his hand on her back.
They seemed so small, the room so big. Couples sat, hands entwined. Others, alone, eyes vacant.
“Are you alright?” the Count asked. “Your hair…it’s...”
“It’s gone...” Piggy said. She pulled away, wiped tears with the back of her gloves.
“Can we go home?” Miss Piggy asked.
*^*^*^*
Rowlf sat alone on a bench in Hyde Park. He did not know how he had gotten there. Or why. He touched the tip of each finger to the other, one by one, a pattern. He needed a pattern today.
Rowlf knew he should get to a phone. He’d check in with Kermit, and the others. Miss Piggy. She was in London with him, was she ok? Did she have her cell-phone? Why did they do this? What about other countries? Did Robin know what was happening? Bert would love those pigeons on the grass there. Where was he? Hyde Park. He didn’t know how he got there. He’d walked, maybe. Maybe he’d walked.
Too much.
Rowlf touched little finger to little finger.
Who were they? There were terrorists. They were afraid. Afraid of change, or afraid of power, or afraid…of something. So they struck, passed their fear on. Thumb to thumb. They must have demands, a reason. Something strong enough for them to risk their own lives to make a point. Index finger to index finger. Perhaps this was the only way they knew, to ask. Rowlf shook his head. No excuse for lives lost. Certainly nothing could excuse the mindless killing of the people, their souls.
Rowlf stood. He walked away from the bench, following a path beside grass. Live 8 had been here. People, hundreds of people, asking for others to live.
Rowlf closed his eyes and tried to feel. His mind was numb from the day. Did he feel hate? Anger? They would not get away with hurting, injuring, terrorising. He would fight them. Rowlf opened his eyes.
*^*^*^*
In the news office, Elsie Donnel covered the telephone receiver. “Mark, we got a dog on the phone, sez he ‘as in the train. Sez he’s gotta something that needs to be said on air.”
Mark took the phone. “Yes. What can I do for you? You want to say
what?!”
*^*^*^*
Sam snatched the radio down off his shelf, and hurried down the stairs. “Listen up, folks,” he said. “Our dog is on the air.”
“What?” Kermit turned. “Rowlf…”
Robin squeezed his hand.
“Yes, I’m Rowlf, Rowlf the Dog,” Rowlf said through the radio.
“And you were actually on the scene,” the reporter was asking.
“I was, I was in the train. I started out at King’s Cross. Three hours later…” he said. “And I’m here.”
“And you have something you wish to say, not just to the nation, but to those responsible for today’s bombings, is that right?”
“That’s right, yes.” Rowlf said.
Kermit’s chest tightened.
“I want to say,” Rowlf began. “That….I was affected today, I saw things this morning…I don’t want to remember. I wasn’t…that is, my physical body was not torn by them, but my mind, my heart, is broken for those who were hurt this day. However, I would not consider myself the dog I am, if I didn’t speak to those responsible. If I didn’t say how I feel, and let them know.” The brave dog paused. He left his words hanging in the air, then plunged on.
“Whoever it was that did this, why ever it was done…it won’t work, because you cannot use us as levers in your plans, no way. I don’t know about the others who were on that train with me this morning, the woman with the rabbit, the man with the paper, the teens with their rad jackets…but I tell you from Rowlf, Rowlf the Dog, that I…I forgive you for what you done to me today. And because of that, because of my forgiving you, you can not use me, I’m no ammunition for your army. And that’s all this dog wanted to say, except, to the others who were hurt…forgive them, fight hate with love, then they have nothing, nothing on us, nothin at all.”
Rowlf left a wake of silence. It took the reporter a long moment to gather herself. Sam shut off the radio. Kermit squeezed Robin’s hand back. It was going to be ok. The door banged open. Scooter ran in breathless. “Kermit, come quick.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Miss Piggy. She’s on the phone.”
Kermit reached the door before Robin spoke. “Uncle Kermit?” Robin said.
Kermit turned back. “Yes, Robin?”
“They didn’t win.”
The End
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