He carries that load tied to his chest. Personal emotions or a physical baggage? Whatever it is, it is going to wipe off his existence. His identity would be reduced to shards in a few moments. That body of flesh and blood, soon to turn to dust. Judgments don't scare him, he expects forgiveness. He has his last conversations, maybe also a prayer for forgiveness and courage. A victim of circumstances, a cold blooded heart, he has a reason. More than anything, he is committed to vengeance. Maybe an ideology, maybe a cause.
Standing at a crowded market place, watching the young and old, unaware of the trauma that would befall them soon. Bustling roads, lively babbles, smiling yet anxious faces, innocent minds. Some waiting to surprise their wives, some out with kids or friends on a shopping spree. Some religious women out for a pooja, families out on a walk. Running, eating, yelling, confused, bargaining, talking,lost.
No one knows anything; he does.
He has predicted the next few minutes. He knows the future. He is unaffected by the present. Maybe, a sufferer of the past. Mutilated in life, glorified in death. Would he be lone in his suffering? No.
He would invite many a tears. To him, no one is innocent. To him, they all deserve that trauma. They are, after all, his 'culprits'.
Ever tried figuring out the psychology of a suicide bomber?