Through the eyes of a victim

It's not so common, the sounds aren't so familliar. Screaming, crying, pleads, and noises mostly not heard with the ears, but felt from vibrations. Actually, each one of them seperated tells you something is wrong, but summed up together, something serious is wrong, you know it before you even see it. It's behind your back now, more than just dead, destroyed. Death and destruction are creeping up on you. You'd hate to admit it but at best this was a thrill. A complete shock. You're not even thinking, your body must be taking over your legs, bringing them up again to run at will. Just running, nothing else.
Then there was nothing. Your body lost control, and long ago your mind had left its sanity. You aren't running anymore. Thrills? For you, complete opposites of thrill. Those horrid people who did this still have anxiety running through their veins. On other hand, your veins run cold, then stop running at all. To end with a cut off, nothing left at all to you. They get their thrills, over and over again, to them it's all too familliar. It shouldn't be. I wish those idiots who do this were all dead. Your glad it's over, a thrill you were never seeking, and never finished to find the happiness of.

Post script- I wrote this the night before London's tradgedy. God bless you, I'm so sorry.