Cyre2067
The Living Force
My friend wrote this on his Livejournal. His link is here: http://ikura.livejournal.com/
The sun rose over the Iraqi desert, and in a small concrete house the young boy Yusuf and his younger brother Hassan woke up with hearts full of joy. Tomorrow was 9/11, the day when Osama bin Laden flies around the world in his magic jetliner bringing death to the infidels, and they couldn't wait.
They washed their glowing faces, and quivering with energy sat down to breakfast to the sound of a grainy radio speaker.
"The Americans have captured Osama bin Laden," announced the voice, "and are holding him at an undisclosed location." The boys' spirits fell, and the color drained from their faces.
Just then, a light truck rumbled past the house, in the direction of the American prison down the road. And another truck, and then an APC. And a heavier truck, and a helicopter overhead, and another, and another truck, on and on, a rumble that would have been the loudest thing the boys had ever heard, had they not lived in a land largely occupied in the manufacture of explosions.
"Do you think...?" asked Yusuf.
"It must be!" replied Hassan.
"Then we must rescue him!" insisted Yusuf. "Without Osama, there is no 9/11."
"But how? The prison is heavily fortified and strongly defended, and we are but two young boys," Hassan questioned.
But Yusuf was a clever child, and he quickly thought of a plan. Hassan and Yusuf headed off down the road towards the checkpoint in front of the prison, where the prison commander stood with several of his men.
The commander hailed them, and commanded them to stop. "You boys should turn back and return to your home. This is not a place for you, this is a place where we hold our enemies, yours and mine," said the prison commander.
"Our enemies? Who are our enemies?" inquired Yusuf.
"Oh," said a private, "they taught us this in basic training. Our enemies wear the uniforms of a foreign power."
"No," said a sergeant, correcting the private, "Our real enemies wear no uniforms but carry guns that can kill a man with a single shot."
"No," said a lieutenant, correcting the sergeant, "Our real enemies have abandoned their uniforms and their guns, so they look like any other man on the street."
"Actually," said the commander, "our enemies include all these men. So when we find any men like this, we seize them and throw them in jail. They may not be the enemy, but we must be cautious. Do not worry, we will release them when we think it is safe."
"But," asked Hassan, "you are all wearing uniforms of a foreign power. How am I to know *you* are not the enemy?"
And the commander paused a moment to think, and he saw the truth in Hassan's words. So he ordered his men to remove their helmets, and their jackets, and so forth, until they stood in their undershirts.
"There," said the commander, "now you know we are not the enemy."
"But," asked Yusuf, "you are all carrying guns that could kill me with a single shot. How am I to know *you* are not the enemy?"
And the commander paused a moment to think, and he saw the truth in Yusuf's words. So he ordered his men to unsling their guns, and their grenades, and so forth, and lay them in a pile on the ground.
"There," said the commander, "now you know we are not the enemy."
"But," asked Hassan, "you have shed your uniforms and your guns, and now you look like any other men on the street. How am I to know *you* are not the enemy?"
And the commander paused a moment to think, and he saw the truth in Hassan's words. So he ordered his men to seize themselves and throw themselves into cells, handing Yusuf his keyring so as to lock them in.
"There," said the commander, "we may not be the enemy, but you must be cautious. Do not worry, you can release us when you think it is safe."
So Yusuf and Hassan locked all the American soldiers in their cells, took the keyring and freed Osama, and the three fled into the desert.
"Hooray!" exclaimed Yusuf. "We were afraid we wouldn't be able to rescue you and there'd never be another 9/11."
"Oh boys," chided Osama, "9/11 isn't about me!"
The boys were taken aback. What did he mean?
"But without you, who would fly your airplane? Who would bring death to the infidels?" asked Hassan.
The tall sheikh chuckled. "Boys, boys, 9/11 isn't about airplanes, or bringing death to the infidels. No, it's about the spirit of 9/11 - blind allegiance to your own side, no matter what they do. Every time an insurgent beheads an innocent man, that's the spirit of 9/11. And every time the Americans torture in the name of freedom, *that's* the spirit of 9/11."
"And... every time a Palestinian martyr detonates a bomb in a crowded restaurant?" offered Yusuf.
Osama smiled and nodded.
"And every time the Zionist Enemy responds by firing missiles at an apartment building full of families!" interjected Hassan, catching on.
"Exactly!" exclaimed Osama. "Now you've got it. And as long as we keep that spirit alive in all our hearts, there'll always be another 9/11, no matter what happens to me."
The boys beamed. But then a frown crossed young Hassan's face.
"But... does this mean you won't be bringing death to the infidels?" he inquired.
"Well, I never said that," responded Osama with a sly grin.
And he winked his eye and he tugged on his beard, and on the horizon his airplane appeared.
It glowed with a light that shone at all angles, pulled through the air by a team of eight camels.
It alit on the road as the boys stood in wonder, with a screeching of tires and hoofclops like thunder.
A ladder came down, the color of cream, and Osama climbed up and called to his team:
al-Adel, al-Libbi, al-Masri, al-Zawahiri! Abu Hafiza, Zubaydah, Sheikh Mohammed, al-Zarqawi!
To the enemy near! To the enemy far! We'll cut off their heads and explode all their cars!
As the plane rose skywards on its mission of killing, you could hear on the wind his voice, Allah willing.
"For enemies to create, and enmity prolong, remember these words: my side, right or wrong."
The sun rose over the Iraqi desert, and in a small concrete house the young boy Yusuf and his younger brother Hassan woke up with hearts full of joy. Tomorrow was 9/11, the day when Osama bin Laden flies around the world in his magic jetliner bringing death to the infidels, and they couldn't wait.
They washed their glowing faces, and quivering with energy sat down to breakfast to the sound of a grainy radio speaker.
"The Americans have captured Osama bin Laden," announced the voice, "and are holding him at an undisclosed location." The boys' spirits fell, and the color drained from their faces.
Just then, a light truck rumbled past the house, in the direction of the American prison down the road. And another truck, and then an APC. And a heavier truck, and a helicopter overhead, and another, and another truck, on and on, a rumble that would have been the loudest thing the boys had ever heard, had they not lived in a land largely occupied in the manufacture of explosions.
"Do you think...?" asked Yusuf.
"It must be!" replied Hassan.
"Then we must rescue him!" insisted Yusuf. "Without Osama, there is no 9/11."
"But how? The prison is heavily fortified and strongly defended, and we are but two young boys," Hassan questioned.
But Yusuf was a clever child, and he quickly thought of a plan. Hassan and Yusuf headed off down the road towards the checkpoint in front of the prison, where the prison commander stood with several of his men.
The commander hailed them, and commanded them to stop. "You boys should turn back and return to your home. This is not a place for you, this is a place where we hold our enemies, yours and mine," said the prison commander.
"Our enemies? Who are our enemies?" inquired Yusuf.
"Oh," said a private, "they taught us this in basic training. Our enemies wear the uniforms of a foreign power."
"No," said a sergeant, correcting the private, "Our real enemies wear no uniforms but carry guns that can kill a man with a single shot."
"No," said a lieutenant, correcting the sergeant, "Our real enemies have abandoned their uniforms and their guns, so they look like any other man on the street."
"Actually," said the commander, "our enemies include all these men. So when we find any men like this, we seize them and throw them in jail. They may not be the enemy, but we must be cautious. Do not worry, we will release them when we think it is safe."
"But," asked Hassan, "you are all wearing uniforms of a foreign power. How am I to know *you* are not the enemy?"
And the commander paused a moment to think, and he saw the truth in Hassan's words. So he ordered his men to remove their helmets, and their jackets, and so forth, until they stood in their undershirts.
"There," said the commander, "now you know we are not the enemy."
"But," asked Yusuf, "you are all carrying guns that could kill me with a single shot. How am I to know *you* are not the enemy?"
And the commander paused a moment to think, and he saw the truth in Yusuf's words. So he ordered his men to unsling their guns, and their grenades, and so forth, and lay them in a pile on the ground.
"There," said the commander, "now you know we are not the enemy."
"But," asked Hassan, "you have shed your uniforms and your guns, and now you look like any other men on the street. How am I to know *you* are not the enemy?"
And the commander paused a moment to think, and he saw the truth in Hassan's words. So he ordered his men to seize themselves and throw themselves into cells, handing Yusuf his keyring so as to lock them in.
"There," said the commander, "we may not be the enemy, but you must be cautious. Do not worry, you can release us when you think it is safe."
So Yusuf and Hassan locked all the American soldiers in their cells, took the keyring and freed Osama, and the three fled into the desert.
"Hooray!" exclaimed Yusuf. "We were afraid we wouldn't be able to rescue you and there'd never be another 9/11."
"Oh boys," chided Osama, "9/11 isn't about me!"
The boys were taken aback. What did he mean?
"But without you, who would fly your airplane? Who would bring death to the infidels?" asked Hassan.
The tall sheikh chuckled. "Boys, boys, 9/11 isn't about airplanes, or bringing death to the infidels. No, it's about the spirit of 9/11 - blind allegiance to your own side, no matter what they do. Every time an insurgent beheads an innocent man, that's the spirit of 9/11. And every time the Americans torture in the name of freedom, *that's* the spirit of 9/11."
"And... every time a Palestinian martyr detonates a bomb in a crowded restaurant?" offered Yusuf.
Osama smiled and nodded.
"And every time the Zionist Enemy responds by firing missiles at an apartment building full of families!" interjected Hassan, catching on.
"Exactly!" exclaimed Osama. "Now you've got it. And as long as we keep that spirit alive in all our hearts, there'll always be another 9/11, no matter what happens to me."
The boys beamed. But then a frown crossed young Hassan's face.
"But... does this mean you won't be bringing death to the infidels?" he inquired.
"Well, I never said that," responded Osama with a sly grin.
And he winked his eye and he tugged on his beard, and on the horizon his airplane appeared.
It glowed with a light that shone at all angles, pulled through the air by a team of eight camels.
It alit on the road as the boys stood in wonder, with a screeching of tires and hoofclops like thunder.
A ladder came down, the color of cream, and Osama climbed up and called to his team:
al-Adel, al-Libbi, al-Masri, al-Zawahiri! Abu Hafiza, Zubaydah, Sheikh Mohammed, al-Zarqawi!
To the enemy near! To the enemy far! We'll cut off their heads and explode all their cars!
As the plane rose skywards on its mission of killing, you could hear on the wind his voice, Allah willing.
"For enemies to create, and enmity prolong, remember these words: my side, right or wrong."