When did our streets and homes become a battlefield? At what point did we cross that boundary between normal life and abnormality? The streets of a country are already starting to look overgrown, weeds grow on the streets and piles of garbage are now turning into little hills. It is almost as if the earth has some kind of natural mechanism to heal the gaping wounds left by men, as it slowly covers the scenes of his crimes with dirt, plants and pebbles. In a thousand years people might come and picnic on those very places, and admire the scenic view. Somebody might dig up the bodies, note how this might have been the scene of an ancient massacre, and write it in a book one day. But nobody will remember the sounds, smells and sights of one horrific day that took place so long ago. That is a privilege accorded only to those who were there.