A Tear in a Pool of Blood

February 9, 2012
“Stop a major catastrophe and you’ll assault record will um… ‘disappear’.” Sgt. Pepper’s words repeated in my head over and over, as if creating a dam on my flow of thought. A week ago I had gave my boss a pop in the mouth for reducing my wage because of back talk. Less than five minutes later I was being transported to the local police station, and soon following being interrogated. Seeing that I had several assaults on my record they gave me a choice: ten years in the state penitentiary, or risk my live to stop a major disaster in history. I chose the second one, because from what I’ve heard the food would kill me anyways. So after some intense Navy Seal like training, I was ready to go!

Lying before me on the sleek stainless steel table was mankind’s’ greatest invention ever. Looking like a minute version of that old O-phone or Z-phone that my grandpa always told me about was a time machine. Yes, the very thing Jules Verne wrote about, in the flesh. Or should I say mechanics? As I stared at the priceless touch pad my flow of thought turned into an awesome white rapid river, eroding even the darkest corners of my mind. Stop a major catastrophe in history… Hmm… the possibilities… And then suddenly, emerging from its submerged journey down my river, a piece of driftwood (an idea) bobbled to the top and began its long journey to shore.

My fingers gentle brushing the thing of beauty, I typed: 9/11/01.

WHACK! My head throbbed as I landed on the floor of the economy class section of a plane. The plane. No one seemed to notice my grand entrance. They were all to absorbed in completing crossword puzzles, listening to their first generation… I-pods (Yea, that’s it!), and torturing their little sister. If only they knew they only would be alive together for a few more precious hours. But they never will have to leave life if I complete my mission… If… My thoughts were interrupted as a group of men entered the plane, all looking strongly of Arab. The what seemed to be the leader of the group motioned for them to move up front. The closest place to the cockpit. As I studied their leader a flash of black from under his turban caught my eye. It was the muzzle of an Uzi sub-machine gun!

I instinctively reached for my holster, concealed by a long trench coat, and was lending shelter to a strongly built Desert Eagle, one of the finest pistols ever made. Only fifteen bullets in it I thought and there are twelve of them. I have to aim wisely! So absorbed in my thoughts, I missed three members of the group heading to the cockpit. Following their entry, I heard a stifled cry of surprise following screaming and pleading, and the only answer was the deadly drum role of the machine gun!

Snapping to my senses as the group shouted orders to the terrified passengers, I drew my firearm and aimed toward the backs of the hijackers. And I fired. As soon as my finger squeezed the trigger a terrorist fell dead, soon following another. And another. In the delirious state I was in, I couldn’t help but chuckle. It reminded me of dominos. Dominos falling, but these dominos were special. These dominos didn’t get up.

Still chuckling, I felt a red-hot pain inject in my side. Followed by another. I collapsed onto the floor and simultaneously the plane fell into an ever-perilous slope, only being ended by fire, destruction, and death. Terror. I suddenly understood their name. Children screaming, men pleading for the hijackers to take them. Not their families. Them. One doth fail before all others prevail. My mission code, but I had failed, along with everyone else. A tear from a woman’s eyes dropped into a pool of blood, my pool of blood I realized, lost forever. Like me. Lost forever with other countless lives, taking away by terror. My thoughts started to turn from white hot, to black and white. Everything fading. Fading. Fading. The only thing I could do was pray for a miracle. And it never came.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback