Some blood. A red and dead sea at the same time. Ninety dead in thirty-two minutes. Seventy-one surveyed inside the Bataclan, including forty-four in the pit, at the foot of the stage. Others outside. Others finally in hospitals where the doctors could not do anything. Two hundred and fifty-eight percussion cartridges, caliber 7.62 - the one vomited by the Kalashnikovs. A hostage-taking after the fatal salvos, two hours and thirty-eight minutes of anguish for the survivors. Three terrorists eliminated, including two suicide bombers whose scraps of bodies scattered with some 1,700 bolts of their bombs lined the walls. The head of one of them who seems to be contemplating the carnage from the scene where he blew himself up a quarter of an hour after the start of the attack.
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