I was in the Bataclan tonight. I went home an hour ago but I can't get any sleep anyway. I don't have the full story, the situation quickly made it so that we didn't had any visibility on the terrorist's objectives, the room, etc. Here are my feelings, "my" version.
When we heard "fireworks", I was in the pit close to the stairs when terrorists entered, and I ran directly towards the scene on the right side, by reflex. In my "space", everybody was wrapped around in non-probable positions, it was painful for everybody, face against the floor, the head propped on anything close, a leg for example. And at the bottom was a bloodbath.
And that's how the worst game I ever played began. The waiting game. A dead silence in the room only broken by erratic gunshots. No timing, no logic, nothing. Just, sometimes, a gunshot. And you're wondering if the next shot is for you.
Awaiting the arrival of the police, without any notion of time (no watch, cellphone unreachable). People stand up to get slaughtered immediately. And again, and again... no way to move because a single movement is painful, both for you and the others (we were really tangled up). No way to walk, to whisper, nothing. Somebody starts crying? This person is welcomed by collective "shhh".
The terrorists didn't said anything, except at the beginning something about Syria, Hollande (our president) and the fact that it was only the beginning. At the start, they're "exploring" the location, shooting randomly at people on the ground. Then we didn't see them. Then we heard more gunshots.
It's impossible to stand up and to run away, all my muscles are asleep and there's no way to get a view of the room without potentially catching a terrorist's eye, a chance I didn't dare to take. I bet everything on the police. We say to ourselves that in a case like that, the whole army should be running, even the Charles-de-Gaulle (our aircraft ship) on the Seine, that somebody is going to enter and do something.
We obviously have no idea of the simultaneous events in République and the Stade de France. And nobody comes. Gunshots continue. And we keep waiting, playing the lottery with the terrorists. With awful thoughts like, "Please, not me, aim for the other side of the room". These thoughts are interrupted by gunshots.
At one point (perhaps the middle), there's an explosion. According to other witnesses, it's a grenade they threw in the pit. I can't confirm, only that it was an explosion. And that's when the waiting game takes another form. They have explosives. Fanatics armed with explosives killing without provocation... Your mind immediately moves to the worst-case scenario: we are of no value to them.
I'm naturally wondering whether the goal is simply to blow the whole building up, or at least us. The waiting game intensifies. Time becomes longer. Pain is getting greater. People are panicking and suffering more and more. Phones ring because close relatives want to check on their loved ones, another stress bringer (no noise!). We're looking to find comfort in each others' eyes with the few people we can see, only to find the same fear.
Where are the police? What are they doing? We start to really panic inside. Finally, somebody whispers, "Police are here". Then everything changes. Time becomes even more long because they don't intervene right away. At this time I think that the terrorists went upstairs somewhere in the Bataclan because the police come in without shooting.
A herd of police arrive. Standing up, helping others to stand up, seeing policemen in armor storm the Bataclan... It was an indescribable relief. We're looking to each other, blessed to be alive. We obviously stay cautious. The police don't seem to know if the terrorists are in the building or elsewhere.
Finally the police receive intel that they've gone elsewhere. We start walking, heads in our hands, relieved and happy to be safe. The happiness is quickly stopped by a vision of a nightmare. Dozens of bodies, people agonizing, a sea of blood in the pit. Awful. Horrible. I look to the zone in which I was before running to the bottom and I see several bodies. It could have easily been me.
I get out quickly, still with my hands on the head, and see the entrance personnel of the Bataclan lying on the floor (the "fireworks" we heard before, when the terrorists came in). I take a few steps and I collapse. A flood of tears. I don't even remember last time I cried before tonight, but I can't stop. I'm shaking. But I'm alive. Finally, we are regrouped in cafés on the next street, thankful to have made it and taking to our cellphones to call loved ones. And we learn about all the other attacks. République, Stade de France, etc.
What a fucking tragedy. All this, for what? I'm not bringing you any breaking news with this, but it feels good to write it out. It was terrifying to be in the event and be helpless, staying face down on the ground for 2-3 hours, not helping.
Zakładki