They'll Be Waiting in the Stars

On October 22, 2019, terrorists attacked 10 leading political powers around the world. This event would later be known as the October Bombings, a simple name belying the largest terror campaign ever conceived. For despite taking place across 5 continents, the coincidental timing of the attacks and aligned modus operandi made it clear that these separate agents, all domestic citizens of their intended targets, functioned as part of a larger whole. The group never identified themselves by any name, though they did release public statements which have been archived and dissected countless times in any language one may imagine. These documents remain the only source of information about the perpetrators’ motives and psychologies, as any data regarding communications between them, which surely must have occurred, were never recovered. The grievances listed vary but, interestingly, remain of a mostly progressive slant, citing the need to stop systems marred by fascistic ideology, late-stage capitalism, and corporate oligarchical puppet states. Others, particularly in Europe, take a more environmental stance, making the looming catastrophe of global warming the finger that had pulled the trigger they had willingly become. The shortest, at just 563 words, is a mere list. The longest, written by one of the architects of the Moscow attack, is almost 40,000, and reads more like a rambling autobiography. These insights into the extremist mindset are simultaneously highly elucidating while providing no real answers at all. The sole exception was Tokyo, Japan. Whether through technical error, practical misstep, or perhaps an admission of dogma in itself, there was never any Japanese equivalent of the manifesto released. No statement of intent. No swan song for the terrorists who had unleashed yet another tragedy onto a wholly unsuspecting public that they, more than anyone, must have known had already suffered enough. Tokyo had long been a city festering on wounds of the past, a defiant monument to the terrors of WWII which, on top of seismological disasters, had already been devastated by domestic terrorism that had shaken the populace just a few decades before. But researchers were left with nothing but the yearning question…why? But as each terrorist’s life was taken alongside their victims’, it was a question whose answer remains unknowable. What we do have ample record of is the perfectly ordinary, respectable lives these radicals led before the events of that day. Husbands. Mothers. Doctors. Professors. Even, in one instance, a politician herself. Each victims of their own violences, leaving behind a complicated legacy. The global casualties passed 100,000, though even taken individually each attack was enough to be considered the deadliest instance of terrorism in history. In Tokyo alone the unique type of chemical warhead used combined with the crowded layout of the metropolis led to 12,859 people having their cause of death that day listed as “Terrorist Attack.” Nearly twice that suffered from associated injuries, and almost quadruple would continue to be monitored for traces of chemical violence for years to come. The Prime Minister had thankfully left the city for a private matter, but much of the National Diet was wiped out, taking countless records and record-keeping systems with them. For months the country boiled in political chaos, with only the surviving Prime Minister able to hold the reins of a bold campaign that eventually saw a return to some semblance of normalcy, though deep in the roots of that normalcy the rot of that October remained. While not often considered, alongside the casualties was the displacement of thousands of newly orphaned children for whom the crippled system had no answer. To accommodate the influx the few existent orphanages and foster programs weren’t enough, not to mention, with spreading hysteria over the extent of the chemical damages, it was unlikely they would welcome potentially contaminated survivors even if they were. It became necessary to facilitate the creation of “pop-up orphanages”- temporary homes that could lead these lost souls through the muddled world their parents had unwittingly left them. These facilities were typically small and as chaotic as the landscape that had birthed them, hosting no more than 10, 20 children, run by community centers or passion-driven volunteers who were, in many cases, victims of the attack themselves. As society shifted along the fault lines the bombings had exposed, it was as if these homes were jumbled from the things that had fallen through the cracks. Poorly funded. Often as forgotten as their wards. They were the sort of places that others would turn their heads from, burning with pity or the sooner to forget. Contemptible homes for those who had no other. For the lambs who had been brought into this world only to lose everything from it. The place where I grew up was one of these.