Norway Killer Essay

Norway Killer Essay-19
She is one of nine people badly wounded by the explosion. The crew at the late-night café on Utoeya didn't finish cleaning up until almost three in the morning, so Munir Jaber sleeps late and misses Gro's speech. It's a place for us to really sit down and discuss the future. Everyone on Utoeya is required to contribute to the communal functioning of the camp—hauling trash or organizing social events like Wednesday night's speed-dating or Thursday's karaoke or, for Munir, flipping burgers in the late-night café. But it becomes clear within a half hour that a bomb has been detonated and that the government block was the target. They are wet from the rain, and the air inside is moist and hot.He is 21 years old and was born and raised in Oslo, where he is the AUF district secretary. What do we want Norway, and the world, to look like when we're adults? After a lecture on student politics, Munir's phone begins to chirp with tweets and texts. They know only that there has been an explosion in Oslo, and they are at once frightened and confused.Rain falls, intermittent but hard, and Gro decides to cut short her visit. The picture is static and clumsily posed, like an amateur's snapshot, but Sara is pretty sure they have never before been photographed together in the national media.

She is one of nine people badly wounded by the explosion. The crew at the late-night café on Utoeya didn't finish cleaning up until almost three in the morning, so Munir Jaber sleeps late and misses Gro's speech. It's a place for us to really sit down and discuss the future. Everyone on Utoeya is required to contribute to the communal functioning of the camp—hauling trash or organizing social events like Wednesday night's speed-dating or Thursday's karaoke or, for Munir, flipping burgers in the late-night café. But it becomes clear within a half hour that a bomb has been detonated and that the government block was the target. They are wet from the rain, and the air inside is moist and hot.He is 21 years old and was born and raised in Oslo, where he is the AUF district secretary. What do we want Norway, and the world, to look like when we're adults? After a lecture on student politics, Munir's phone begins to chirp with tweets and texts. They know only that there has been an explosion in Oslo, and they are at once frightened and confused.Rain falls, intermittent but hard, and Gro decides to cut short her visit. The picture is static and clumsily posed, like an amateur's snapshot, but Sara is pretty sure they have never before been photographed together in the national media.

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The man appears to be dressed in a police commando's uniform: black trousers over what seems to be a black wet suit, a vest with many stuffed pockets and the word politi on the right breast, a backpack. He senses other kids around him, also moving in a slow half-crouch. Seven hours before the shooting begins on 22 July, Gro Harlem Brundtland makes the short ferry crossing from the shore to Utoeya.Apparently she did not hear the bangs or the screaming while she was in the showers, because she is walking calmly along the path toward the man with the guns. She is only a few feet from the man when she stops, tenses. The AUF is by far the largest political youth organization in Norway, and its parent party, Labor, has long been the dominant faction in a coalition government.It looks to Adrian like she senses something is wrong, like she wants to run. The island itself, which is small and heart-shaped, was a gift to the AUF from the Oslo and Akershus trade unions in 1950.It has been known for generations as Kjærlighetsstien, the Lovers' Trail.On Utoeya, Gro will be visiting her granddaughter, who is in the AUF.One of the Oslo newspapers, _Verdens Gang, _decides to do a light feature on the occasion, and a reporter and a photographer are dispatched to follow Gro around the island.Sara Johannessen, the photographer, takes pictures of Gro speaking in the cafeteria and laughing with campers and touring Utoeya in a pair of borrowed boots. On the other side, where Sara has parked her blue Toyota, she coas Gro and her granddaughter to stand together for a portrait.Building alarms, jostled by that same concussion, ring in a shrill chorus, and glass falls from above, shards and panes and whole plates shattering on the pavement. The normal sounds of the city, the traffic and the trams and the footsteps and conversations that all layer into a background drone, are mute.Scraps of paper flutter in the air, dance with the smoke.She photographs a woman who has blond hair and a bloody blue shirt and a foot-long wooden stake poking out of her head.It's part of a window frame from her tenth-floor office, and it stabbed, like a javelin, between her skin and her skull. There is brief speculation that a gas main might have ruptured. the kids on Utoeya pack into the cafeteria for a meeting.

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