Saturday, April 24 1999.

There goes RTS...

    I'll, probably, never learn to distinguish the sound of a missile from the sound of a plane, how to estimate the height they're flying at, etc. To be honest, I'm not that eager to know. Therefore, I have no idea what flew over our house and immediately afterwards hit the building of RTS. The windows shook, and the detonation was loud, but I always thought that it would be much worse.

    Half an hour later, on Studio B news, they said that RTS was hit. And put pictures from the scene on air.

    I must admit that my first reaction was one of satisfaction. SATISFACTION? Yes, but that was just the first reaction. The building itself was, in a way, a symbol of all the lies we've been given during the last 10 years, and also the symbol of SM's regime. Although it was the building in MY hometown, near MY park, it was always repugnant. Maybe because of few characters I was able to see every night at 7:30. Maybe because of those characters behind the cameras, those who pull the strings. Maybe because of The One who pulls ALL the strings.

    And then pictures of people trapped in the ruines appeared on the screen. Some were still alive. Some weren't. No reaction. I didn't get that nauseating feeling I get in front of pictures of dead and injured. I didn't feel sorry. I wasn't afraid.

    Tomorrow, among those crowded in front of the building I saw a girl who obiovusly cried all night, talking to a member of the rescue team. He replied something like: "I don't know, they're still rescuing the wounded", evading to say "and the dead".

    Last night's pixels on the screen became real people. Important to someone.

    I'm terrified. With my own numbness. I can breathe properly. I can sleep peacefully. And pictures, from the TV or the Internet, are just pictures. "Bunch of pixels" someone said. It seems that nothing more can touch me. Or I forgot what "peaceful" and "normal" mean.

    RTS didn't broadcast its program only on the night the attack occured. Tomorrow the same ugly faces appeared, saying the same disgusting phrases, spilling lies like so many times before. Spilling lies like their colleagues across the sea. Those who pull the strings are unharmed. Intact. The One who pulls all the strings is in some fucking bunker rolling dice. Playing RISK.

    And that girl may have lost someone on that night. Someone important to her.

Ana
age 21, student