October 31, 2011
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Click. Clack. Click, click. Clack. The outside dull as can be. The land barren, and dry. An overcast day shows no mercy on the roads. The driver barely keeping control of the bus, with no street lights to help out his struggles. The guards, who normally stand, forced to sit from all the swerving. I sit in the back of the bus with my frozen chains continuously hitting my tortured legs. Each bump, or swerve causing a larger wince that I must hold in. All the way to the point where tears are forced to come out instead of a scream. How did this happen to me keeps running through my mind. How could I go from a successful doctor to a highly guarded prisoner of war so quickly? I know the answer, though; AlQueda. I tried to tell them that they had grabbed the wrong guy. But no, those stupid Americans never listen to and Arab man when he tries to correct them. Never do they allow people to have a chance to explain their side, to show they are not a wanted person.

I scope the bus examining it from engine to back door. I c*** my head to look at the ceiling and grimace at what I see. Some sort of goop a split second from free falling down onto a bald, highly tattooed man’s head. I stare at the gunk, just waiting for it to drop on the buffoon’s head. Then as it starts to drip I think to what it will cause. These idiot hooligans will create a riot from one little drip. Sure enough, the nitwit punches the moron sitting behind him. Wow all they are smart enough to yell is “you son of a b****!” and many other idiotic comments. I sunk into my chair, dodging flying buffoons, until the guards finally control them with the threat of execution. All the sounds vanished except the low mumbles of angry me, and the clacking of chains mixed with a rusted, old bus. This is only the day riding to the compound, and I am terrified of the people who will be there. This is going to be a long sentence. I must find a way to prove my innocence. But how?

Chapter 2: The Inmate

After another two hours of death defying boredom on the horrific bus, I get sight of the dreaded compound. As we turn onto the dirt road, all I see are men in uniforms with guns. I suddenly get scared because I know this will be no merry go round with cotton candy at the end. We are single led file from the bus, down an enormous corridor and into rooms. Once locked inside, many go berserk and cause the guards to threaten them again. I decide that I will just remain calm. I pace for a few minute and then fall back onto my bed, well what is supposed to be a bed. It seems to me, more like cardboard, and numerous springs underneath. I was so sleep deprived that I quickly dosed into a deep sleep.

I was awakened by the clanking of my cell being opened. Was this it? Had they realized I was not the man they were looking for? My hopes sky rocketed until I looked and met eyes with a grease covered, odor carrying, snake tattooed Mexican who, to my best guess, was busted for drugs. He snarled at me when he realized I was judging him in my head. Smart he was, but was he smart, only street or people smart. Time to have fun with this guy.
Once the guard left I questioned the guy by saying
“Raul, is that your name?”
“You sure look like one. Can I call you Raul, though?”
“Is that all you say? ‘No’”
“Hahaha you’re funny. I’m Krishna Ali Muhamad.”
“Are you part of AlQueda or something?”
“Do you own a lawn mowing company?”
“Wow you son of a b****.”
“Well, you assumed since I’m Arab that I’m part of AlQeda. So I figured all Mexicans mow lawns.” I told him.
“What ever, you’re still a d***** bag.” And with that he climbed the latter to his bed and fell asleep.
I must have fallen asleep because I woke again to a guard calling for dinner
“Get up you lazy pieces of trash. Get your slop or don’t eat till mornin’!” some chubby whale like guard screamed, his face slowly turning red. I saw my inmate was already up waiting to be let out. I flung my feet off the side of the bed and trudged to the door
“So what is you name then?” I asked him trying to make up for how I had acted earlier. Now standing next to him, I realized he was a good head taller then me. Great another more reason to be completely terrified of him.
“Fransisco Jose Rivera.” he stated with no looked towards me.
“What are you here for then, Fransisco?’” I asked as I turned to face him. At that moment, the whale guard named Dexter walked up and let us out.
“Glad to see you ladies getting along,” he said mockingly to us. “Head downstairs will ya.”
We walked for a bit and finally Fransisco said, “I killed a man with my bare hands.”
I could tell Fransisco got choked up thinking about it so I asked why he did it.
“Fransisco, why did you kill him?”
“He was part of a gang that sells drugs, one of the sellers. And when you’re involved with those people, men will get you whatever you want. He told people to kidnap a young girl. They kidnapped my daughter. They abused her and then she died in my arms. The last thing she said was....was ‘Daddy I’m sorry.’ We had been in a fight. She was only eight. I just flipped out and killed him, and those men who kidnapped her.”
“Oh, Fransisco I’m so sorry. I...” and I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. It was too painful. I realized Fransisco wasn’t a bad man, he was a caring man who got out of hand to protect his daughter. Then an idea came to me. An idea that would get us both out of this horrific place.

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YoGabbaGabba said...
Nov. 3, 2011 at 7:55 pm

To all my readers,

Thank you for giving your time to read my piece. I am very proud of how it turned out. A continual will come out soon, I hope. Thank you.


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