On July 27, 2004 I watched the biography of Osama Bin Laden on television. One of the scenes showed the total carnage of the 2003 train bombings in Madrid, Spain. El Qaeda claimed responsibility. Osama Bin Laden was the leader of that terrorist organization.

The body of a woman was shown laying lifeless amid the rubble. She wore a dress in vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow. The stockings were sheer; the shoes high-heeled and red. My mind’s eye saw her getting dressed that fateful morning.

I watched her deftly applying her makeup; the lipstick bright red and glossy. She brushed her long black hair into a shining cascade before shrugging into her favorite dress. It was 100% cotton; cool and colorful. She gently drew the silk stockings over her slender legs, and was now stepping into three-inch, high-heeled shoes.

One last look in the mirror reflected a perfectly groomed young lady prepared for her day at the office. Gathering her handbag and keys, she closed the door behind her. The morning train was taking her to work,  but her destination was death.

Why would one human being do that to another?