His only lament.

A mind bogglingly congested array of buildings. People clamoring out, rubies on their necks and the diamonds on their cuffs sparkling in the golden sunlight. Enough distraction to confuse just about anyone. Just about, though. Not me. I could see my target, my salvation, clearly among them - jostling with the gem laden. His flamboyance brought that familiar hardness back to my eyes. He just didn't.....care.

How could he not care? Millions had perished at his will; wives, children, parents...MY wife, MY children, MY parents. He didn't care; his opulence continued, as did my destruction. The caring was left for me to do, wasn't it?

I had to carry the burden of my survival - he wore his on his sleeve. I had to deal with the guilt of still living while others ravaged - his exploitative expeditions were a cause for celebration. My vision fogged as my reminiscence continued. I'd returned home, joyous, only to find corpses strewn around. Shattered windows : the glass of my shattered dreams. How could he?
I vowed I would show him what he'd done. Torment him the way he had tormented me.What was my folly, after all? That I lived in a country whose leader was one he couldn't see eye to eye with? Or that I was of a religion he found contemptuous, and to uplift us [oh, what moral values] he would first have to control us, showing his might by killing us?

Did he have to climb through mountainous ruins, searching a pulse in his lifeless son's body?
Did his parents mouths get eternally parted, uttering their son's name with their last breath?

The wind brought a chilling shiver to my bones and broke through my thoughts.I shifted, readjusting my position.I cross checked everything, and whispered a silent prayer, as the bomb on my jacket ticked its last.