The hubhub, laughter and chatter,
reminiscent of an indian market,
suddenly,
fell silent,
and a cathedral hush descended,
crashing, like a snowflake to earth.
A panic stricken stampede then ensued,
as the erstwhile happy shoppers,
fled screaming.

When things had settled down,
rescuers found an abandoned 2 year old,
playing in the dust,
burbbling rata tata tat
and waving his plastic toy machine gun.
next to him lay the trampled dead body
of an unexploded bomber.

As the failed martyr was not related to the child,
it was deemed that god had a special interest in the tot,
who was at once declared a saint
and was fit for purpose to be worshipped.

But with this particular goody good good, goddily church,
it was not possible to have a living saintly saint,
so the laddy was immediately dispatched,
going directly to heaven,
to abide with the rest of the holy holies.
It was decreed, in his memory,
sixtyfive million candles were to be lit,
everyday, without fail.