Gaelle: I knew that I'd been badly wounded when I tried to get the shoe of the guy lying on top of me out of my face. That was when I saw that my cheek had been ripped off and was hanging down beside my face. I put my right hand into my mouth to pull out my teeth so that I wouldn't choke on them, because otherwise I could gag and attract the terrorists' attention.
Lydia: You move, you die. We pretend to be dead. Mobiles ring non-stop, with those distinctive iPhone jingles that still chill my blood six years later. Again and again, victims describe the smell of blood and gunpowder, the calm relish with which the killers move around the room shooting people, the human confetti that rains down when they fire.
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