They planned and plotted and schemed. They made outlines and drawings and revisions to outlines and drawings and finally hatched something that just might work... if the stars aligned.
They began collecting. Collecting the materials they would need. They waited in hiding as their unknowing accomplices - the landscaping crews - shed the necessary ingredients. And eventually their meticulous planning and work paid off.
They'd made a bomb.
The bomb became like an idol of worship to them. It was their way to salvation. It must hit its mark because, once spent, it was gone forever. But the years of oppression had brought them to this state. The state of evil genius.
And it worked.
I came upon this morbid scene while out taking China for her daily beauty walk. It's the body of a bluebird - male I think - wedged in a fence. I'm pretty sure it's DEAD.
"What could have done this?", I wondered. How does a bluebird body end up wedged in between two fence boards.
Revenge of the Worms. Gotta be.