Deirdre Wimplepool sat in her usual corner booth, sipping her herbal tea from the china cup. The diner didn’t serve herbal tea, but they did provide the hot water and china. She smiled as the waitress, Candice, did her rounds. Deirdre had been coming to the diner for years, ever since her husband, William, passed away with cancer seven years prior. Candice had always been her server and Deirdre tipped her handsomely. Waitresses always got a rough deal and needed the tips to survive and Deirdre was not short of money.

Colin Atwood sat at the diner’s counter, shovelling forkfuls of scrambled egg onto bread toasted on one side, then rolling it up and eating with aplomb. He’d done this every weekend morning on his way to work. The diner served the best scrambled eggs in town, and of course, Candice wasn’t sore on the eyes either.

James Carlingwood sat in a booth by the front window reading the Financial Times. A croissant and fruit jam lay on a plate before him. A paper towel hung from his collar, protecting his shirt and tie from raspberry embarrassment. He liked this table as he could flick his gaze from the newspaper pages to the large clock on the tower of City Hall across the plaza with ease, negating the need to check his expensive watch. He frowned as a crowd gathered beneath the clock tower, hoisting placards and the sound of chanting began to filter its way across the square.

Lorna McIntyre drained her glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice – without pulp – and dabbed at her chin with a napkin to catch any escaping moisture. She checked her makeup in a small compact which she kept on her person for just such an occasion. She was due in court later that morning where her client, Joseph Irwin, was up on charge of embezzlement. Something he most vehemently denied, but was guilty of, nevertheless. It would not look good to turn up with bad makeup and a juice stained blouse.

Jasper Conrad wiped sweat from his brow with a dirty tea towel as he laboured over the hot griddle in the diner’s kitchen. It was sweltering work… hard work but being busy meant success. He’d built the business up over the last twelve years through hard work and determination. With his eldest daughter now ready for college, he needed the success more than ever.

Candice was the first to react when the trashcan came hurtling through the glass window. She screamed as myriad shards of glass perforated her face and arms, driving her to the floor where she huddled as trickles of blood coursed over her once beautiful skin.

Deirdre Wimplepool jumped at the noise of the shattering glass, dropping her china cup which smashed on impact with the table. The smell of the lavender infused liquid spreading across the tabletop did little to calm her. Her pupils dilated as pain shot up her left arm and she clutched her chest before collapsing onto the table.

Colin Atwood managed to turn his head and utter ‘What the f--” before the trashcan caught him on the left temple, rendering him unconscious, his head coming to rest onto the remainder of the best scrambled eggs in town.

Lorna McIntyre dove under her table, escaping the worst of the carnage, but ripping her blouse. Trembling and crying, there was no point in checking her makeup, she’d not be making it to court anytime soon. Her trembling turned to full-on shrieking as she spotted James Carlingwood lying spread-eagled on the floor, his face more crimson than the raspberry jam he’d been protecting his clothes from – the end of a large sliver of glass protruding from a ravaged eye socket. He still clutched the Financial Times in one lifeless hand.

Jasper Conrad, on hearing a commotion from the dining area, came hurtling through the swing door. He stared in disbelief at the scene which greeted him. Something whistled past his ear and smashed against the rear wall. He felt the heat immediately and started moving. Grabbing Candice, he dragged her to the open door and out onto the sidewalk.

The crowd of protesters jostled around him as he tried to get Candice a safe distance from the building.

“Move!” he yelled, “There’s more people inside.” Jasper left Candice and fought his way back inside the diner. The fire had spread across the back wall. He heard whimpering from his right. He bent and grabbed Lorna’s arm, yanking her from beneath the table. Pushing her past him, he screamed “Run.”

Jasper moved to the counter, keenly aware of the fire’s spread. He hefted the unconscious Colin onto his shoulders and headed back toward the door. He heard the sirens, but the protesters weren’t moving. The area in front of the building was clear, the crowd giving the fire a wide berth. He hustled across to where Candice half sat/laid, set Colin down and sank to the ground beside her. He cradled her in his arms and watched his whole life burn…