Night at the Crêperie

I remember knowing,
knowing without being told,
not to mention what had happened.
Tragic, shocking, dreadful,
no-one wanted to stir the calming water.

Ten years young and going out for ice cream.  
Innocent as hopscotch, pigtails and bunnies,
my aunt rewarding me for being good that day,
allowing a night-time sugar high for once.

I remember seeing the Crêperie,
hidden amongst the trees,
but they were no longer familiar.
Oh no.
The dark had turned them into monsters,
clawing at the sides of the shop,
engulfing it whole.

'Don't be silly, you can come with us, or go home alone'
My aunt scolds me,
I look back,
am horrified to see the once beautiful grassy field,
a dark and uninviting maze keeping me from home.

We arrive and I feel the trees watching me.
My heart is screaming,
my stomach dropping,
my intestines squirming insanley,
every hair on my body pin-like.

This is not right.

My hands feel clammy,
I feel as though someone is standing over my shoulder,
their eyes burning a hole through my skin.

The waiter brings my ice cream,
he sees I am upset,
jokes with me and pats my back.
He sits with us for a while, telling us tales of his family,
trying to distract me.

He felt it too,
I know he did,
he must've.

We leave the shop and hear gunshots ripping through the air behind us,
confusion strikes as they mix,
mix with the disco and cabaret music,
mix with blood-curdling screams,
mix with my own gasping, sobbing, panting.

Two dead,
terrorist attack.

I remember leaving the morning after,
I had already forgotten his face,
Another innocent, wrong place, wrong time,
it's just how things work,
I know,
I know without being told.