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John Carson yelled as a bullet entered his left shoulder. He had been in the army for three long years and had avoided injury, until now anyway. He was now twenty one years old, and his wife was expecting their second child back home in the United States. His first son, Bradley, was one. Those were his thoughts before John’s violent world faded to black as he fell to the cold, dirt floor. He could barely hear the hushed voices of what sounded like Iraqi soldiers.
A quick hour later, John awoke in a dark, damp room. Years of water erosion were accented by the many mold filled cracks in the walls around him. John strained to see in the pitch black “prison”. A metal door in front of him opened and a tall, very muscular man walked in. He slightly resembled Osama Bin Laden; only he was much taller. “Osama” spit in John’s face and began to speak in a low, unforgiving voice.
“You Americans,” he began, stroking his stereotypical Middle Eastern mustache. “You disgust me with your fancy cars and expensive luxuries, and most of all, with your freedom. Yes, your freedom of religion, freedom of speech and so forth. All of it annoys me.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Silence!” “Osama” said, slugging John in the stomach. “And you may call me Kulam.”
John was punched in the face.
“I want you and the rest of your American friends to understand that without your precious luxuries you are nothing but the scum of this awful earth we so carefully tread on.”
“How are you--?” John was cut off once more, although this time it was with a gun butt to the temple.
Two hours later, John opened his eyes to three of his squad members sitting in front of him. They were all blind folded and tied to metal chairs. A small TV came on and Kulam’s face appeared. “Mr. Carson, General, of the men you see sitting hopelessly before you, father of a one-year-old-son, and a husband of an ever so beautiful woman. You are about to witness one of the greatest terrorist acts against the U.S. the world has ever known and will ever know. This will have way more of an impact than the 9/11 attacks on your beloved Twin Towers.”
“Think about what you are doing, Kulam.”
“I already have John. Now, direct your attention to the screen as I unveil one of the greatest terrorism acts ever!”
“Don’t Kulam!” John yelled as his eyes widened in terror. A bright light similar to the sun blinded him momentarily. It took him a few moments to realize what had just happened, but, all at once, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Three of the nations’ most important buildings had been blown up, including the White House. The White House looked as if it had been hit by a nuclear bomb.
Kulam’s face reappeared on the screen. He was smiling evilly.
“You sick freak!” John bellowed.
“No, Mr. Carson, you are the sick freak. Do you see that red button next to you?” John didn’t respond. His tears spoke for him. “Yes John, that red button pins this whole escapade on you.”
John yelled through clenched teeth, and he began to violently shake in his chair. “Don’t be angry, John. That is not all you will be charged with,” Kulam told him as a man came into the small room. He was wielding John’s pistol.
The man said to John, “You are going to kill all three of your own men you see before you. I have your gun and you will be blamed for the murders.” The man shot all three soldiers, each with one shot to the chest. Then, the man made John push the red button that blamed the bombings on him. “Now,” the man continued, “with them out of the way, and the bombings pinned to you, you are going to kill yourself and be remembered as a cowardly, suicidal psycho.”
The man walked over to John and made him grip his own gun. The man kept a firm hand on John’s as he turned the gun towards him. John’s face was pale white now. The man made John squeeze the trigger. John’s life flashed before his eyes as he saw the bullet for a very brief second before it entered his head.
John Carson, the husband, the father-to-be, and the wrongly accused murderer, slumped forward, dead. The world will never know the tragic story of John Carson.
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"Backpack, gimme another beer!" --Nate Bell
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A picture is worth a thousand words, however it takes a real artist to turn words into pictures.
Have you heard about the new Lebron Iphone, you have to set it on vibrate because it doesn't have any rings