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Description
With a bang, the Volvo’s passenger side door swung shut. Ismail, oddly tall for an Arab, stepped out with much difficulty onto the dusty Jerusalem alley. The rusted white beater sputtered away into traffic, and Ismail looked around. The stories he had heard of this place was true. Peeking out into the main street, he could see hundreds if not thousands of infidels, all milling around their daily lives.

Couples sat and chuckled over cups of tea in a café, businessmen in tuxedos crisscrossed through traffic with a cautionary hand on their dirty hats, merchants called out to no one in particular with their bubbly, popping Hebrew. Beggars lounged tiredly in the shade of alleyways, casting grudging looks at curious, giggling schoolchildren. A smirk, a forced gesture, crossed Ismail’s face. None of these Israelis, these enemies of the faith, these supporters of the western demons, knew their fate.

Ismail was uncomfortable. He was assured his place in heaven,that was no issue. A few hours before he had supported this idea rabidly, proclaiming his allegiance, but now, as the time of reckoning approached, apprehension set in. He could feel the weight on his torso, constricting his breathing, even with the vest. The idea of suicide by such means was surely honorable, but was taking all these lives? Even the children? Suddenly, a mule-driven cart swung too close, trying to avoid the horrific traffic, and it struck Ismail, clearing his mind of all rebellious thoughts. He had a mission.

He ran a hand through his jet-black hair and strode down the sidewalk. Not the lumbering, confused meander of a tourist, but rather the relaxed, friendly gait of a local, out for a walk. He smiled as a child’s ball bounced before him, and he stopped it with his foot before it could bounce into the speeding traffic. He reached down and picked up the ball, holding his trench coat closed with one hand. With a smile and cautioning words, he passed the ball back to the boy, who must’ve been no older than 6. A strong boy, Ismail thought, one that would make a father proud. It is unfortunate this one never will.

The café was in sight now, and there is no way this boy would escape. As he walked closer to outdoors grill, his thoughts wandered and explored his own future. If it had not been for this holy mission, Ismail could be at home, trying his chances with that beautiful girl from across the square, marrying her, getting an honest job, raising a family of his own to be proud of. Perhaps he could be a town leader, a position of much respect. There is no telling what could have been. Maybe even a camel breeder-

The annoying panhandling of a street side beggar shook Ismail from his daydream. Realizing he was once again torn from his chances of convincing himself to not kill these people, he groaned, and handed the old woman some change. It was totally pointless, of course. The café was directly in front of him.

Rather than ordering and sitting down, Ismail settled for the dramatic entrance. He walked, without being noticed, to the center of the outdoor eating area. His eyes fell on a table, a white cylinder adorned with a flower and the afternoon meal of two love struck locals. As he watched them, his conscience was struck again with the concept of love. He knew the look of two in love, and he knew it well. They have that aura around them. Nothing disturbs them there. They are separated from the earth, lost in each other’s eyes and smiles. So beautiful be the emotion of man. A last hesitating thought crossed his mind, but Ismail was far past the point of no return, and he knew it. He could walk away right now, and let these two live out their lives, just like he had envisioned, but he would not. He could not.

He swept his arm across the table, knocking the flowerpot and the dishes to the cobblestone floor. No one but the couple seemed to notice at first. The man was particularly agitated, obviously driven to such violence by the presence of his woman. Ismail interrupted the man’s yelling with a fist, knocking him to the ground. He then stepped on the chair and onto the table, and reached into his pocket, hand slipping around the plastic detonator. His trench coat flew open, revealing the 30 pounds of explosive strapped all around him.

The woman directly in front of him ceased screaming, and plainly stared at him, eyes pouring tears, face frozen in terror. Ismail, now under the eye of everyone in the plaza, raised the detonator high over his head, and with a triumphant “Allahu Ackbar!” he slammed the button down. In the few seconds that followed, Ismail stared into the cherubic face of the lady in front of him.

Looking now, she could not have been more than 16. She was in love, and probably had a future, a family that loved her, a pet, everything a person needs. She wore colorful clothes, reflecting her life. She was so innocent, and here he was ending her life. In the moments before the explosion, gazing into the girl’s face, Ismail stopped to think.

“Oh God, what have I done?”

Description
With a bang, the Volvo’s passenger side door swung shut. Ismail, oddly tall for an Arab, stepped out with much difficulty onto the dusty Jerusalem alley. The rusted white beater sputtered away into traffic, and Ismail looked around. The stories he had heard of this place was true. Peeking out into the main street, he could see hundreds if not thousands of infidels, all milling around their daily lives.

Couples sat and chuckled over cups of tea in a café, businessmen in tuxedos crisscrossed through traffic with a cautionary hand on their dirty hats, merchants called out to no one in particular with their bubbly, popping Hebrew. Beggars lounged tiredly in the shade of alleyways, casting grudging looks at curious, giggling schoolchildren. A smirk, a forced gesture, crossed Ismail’s face. None of these Israelis, these enemies of the faith, these supporters of the western demons, knew their fate.

Ismail was uncomfortable. He was assured his place in heaven,that was no issue. A few hours before he had supported this idea rabidly, proclaiming his allegiance, but now, as the time of reckoning approached, apprehension set in. He could feel the weight on his torso, constricting his breathing, even with the vest. The idea of suicide by such means was surely honorable, but was taking all these lives? Even the children? Suddenly, a mule-driven cart swung too close, trying to avoid the horrific traffic, and it struck Ismail, clearing his mind of all rebellious thoughts. He had a mission.

He ran a hand through his jet-black hair and strode down the sidewalk. Not the lumbering, confused meander of a tourist, but rather the relaxed, friendly gait of a local, out for a walk. He smiled as a child’s ball bounced before him, and he stopped it with his foot before it could bounce into the speeding traffic. He reached down and picked up the ball, holding his trench coat closed with one hand. With a smile and cautioning words, he passed the ball back to the boy, who must’ve been no older than 6. A strong boy, Ismail thought, one that would make a father proud. It is unfortunate this one never will.

The café was in sight now, and there is no way this boy would escape. As he walked closer to outdoors grill, his thoughts wandered and explored his own future. If it had not been for this holy mission, Ismail could be at home, trying his chances with that beautiful girl from across the square, marrying her, getting an honest job, raising a family of his own to be proud of. Perhaps he could be a town leader, a position of much respect. There is no telling what could have been. Maybe even a camel breeder-

The annoying panhandling of a street side beggar shook Ismail from his daydream. Realizing he was once again torn from his chances of convincing himself to not kill these people, he groaned, and handed the old woman some change. It was totally pointless, of course. The café was directly in front of him.

Rather than ordering and sitting down, Ismail settled for the dramatic entrance. He walked, without being noticed, to the center of the outdoor eating area. His eyes fell on a table, a white cylinder adorned with a flower and the afternoon meal of two love struck locals. As he watched them, his conscience was struck again with the concept of love. He knew the look of two in love, and he knew it well. They have that aura around them. Nothing disturbs them there. They are separated from the earth, lost in each other’s eyes and smiles. So beautiful be the emotion of man. A last hesitating thought crossed his mind, but Ismail was far past the point of no return, and he knew it. He could walk away right now, and let these two live out their lives, just like he had envisioned, but he would not. He could not.

He swept his arm across the table, knocking the flowerpot and the dishes to the cobblestone floor. No one but the couple seemed to notice at first. The man was particularly agitated, obviously driven to such violence by the presence of his woman. Ismail interrupted the man’s yelling with a fist, knocking him to the ground. He then stepped on the chair and onto the table, and reached into his pocket, hand slipping around the plastic detonator. His trench coat flew open, revealing the 30 pounds of explosive strapped all around him.

The woman directly in front of him ceased screaming, and plainly stared at him, eyes pouring tears, face frozen in terror. Ismail, now under the eye of everyone in the plaza, raised the detonator high over his head, and with a triumphant “Allahu Ackbar!” he slammed the button down. In the few seconds that followed, Ismail stared into the cherubic face of the lady in front of him.

Looking now, she could not have been more than 16. She was in love, and probably had a future, a family that loved her, a pet, everything a person needs. She wore colorful clothes, reflecting her life. She was so innocent, and here he was ending her life. In the moments before the explosion, gazing into the girl’s face, Ismail stopped to think.

“Oh God, what have I done?”