Microfiction Monday (it’s saturday)

The steamship that ran straightaway into the bomb factory.

“They say the anchor landed 6 miles away.”
“Did it land on a child?” I asked. It seemed in that great calamity to be the logical outcome. 
“No,” you replied, “who said it landed on a child? No, it did not land on a child.”
“What about a stroller?” I asked again, something about the image, the great cloud of smoke, the buildings flattened as though they were made of dust all along, the wails from every corner of the city, the anchor flying gracefully through the air like only truly massive objects can. 
“No, it did not land on a stroller either, it did not land on a stroller or a child, it just landed, 6 miles away from the damn ship.” 
“Well, did they lift it up? Did they look under it? In all the chaos, in all the grief, maybe they just missed it. The body would be pretty well pulverized, an anchor weighs what, 10 tons, 20 tons? A human being could be reduced to mud under a thing like that. I wonder if it landed on them before the sound of the explosion even reached their ears.”
“Nobody was hit by the anchor, it landed in a field, goddamn it, people saw it land. There was nobody underneath it.”
“Still though, I wonder.”