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UNHOLY
Published at www.halfproject.com 27 October 2002
This was inspired by a picture of 3 blindfolded men printed in a magazine whose caption read Palestine police arrest three would-be bombers yesterday…thought I’d put myself on the shoes of one of the guys and see what it’s like…
I sat against the cold tiled wall of the cramped cell where the police were holding me and took a long drag of my cigarette. I looked around me and exhaled slowly. The f**ked up Palestinian police have been holding me here for a total of twenty-seven hours, eleven minutes and six seconds, calling me “…another one of them insane bombers”. Let me tell you something: I am ‘one of them bombers”, alright. I am, however, not insane, though one’s sanity would start slipping away after spending more than five hours in this box.
I took a last drag from my cigarette and flicked it to the far corner of the cell and stood up. I started pacing the cell and slowly, images of a life long forgotten came into view. My mother’s face came to mind and I sneered. After hearing of my arrest, the first thing that f**ked up whore probably did was pour herself some scotch, go out of the house, and plant herself in front of a bar where she could lure men into buying her more scotch in exchange for carnal pleasures. Without meaning to, my father’s face crept to my mind. The sadist would have been proud of me had he stayed around long enough to see this day. I laughed out loud. The sadist – that’s what I called the man masquerading as my father. Oh yes, he is my biological father but all he did was beat the hell out of me since day one for some goddamn reason he thought was good enough. He left my mother and I for a whore when I was eight and I never heard of him again until I was seventeen. Apparently, he’d butchered up a young prostitute and was caught in the act red-handed. I just heard it on the news and saw his face on the screen. I don’t know what happened to him afterwards and I don’t give a goddamn s**t about it.
I lit another cigarette and stared at the tip of it. I always did love blowing things up. Let me rephrase that: I always had a passion for blowing things up. There’s something very…exhilarating about it, and the emotional high I experience could not be described by words. It even beats hitting on crack…on anything, for that matter! Try blowing up something and you’ll know what I mean – the adrenaline rush, the speeding heartbeat. It’s almost…orgasmic. Earlier this year, I finally came up with a good enough reason for wanting to blow up one of the many temples here in Palestine: things couldn’t be more worse than they already are – it’s about time we start cleaning up everything. Besides…there is no god! And even if there is one, there is no proof of his existence! Violence, death, poverty, government corruption, child abuse, good-for-nothing parents...look around you! It’s everywhere! If there really is a god, would he be allowing this to happen? Well, one thing’s for sure – if I were god, I wouldn’t. I shook my head. People go in the temple day in and day out, religiously worshipping the god they believe in. They offer him sacrifices, and say their prayers, as if all of them would be answered. They claim to be touched by the powers of this god, that they become good people. Well, my mother went to that temple, and so did my father. Good? Holy? Not once did I see a trace of this holiness or goodness in them. Both were self-centered ba***rds, and they made my life one hell of a b**ch. Well, I thought, it’s about time people stopped pretending to be something they’re clearly not. Plus, it was time to put a stop to the belief of the people in a god. There is no god! We are our own gods and we make our own destiny, and we take into our hands to punish those who should be punished and to save those who must be saved. These people worshipping an imaginary being in the temple should be put out of their misery in hoping for things that will never be. Wake up and smell the flowers! We take full control of our lives, and I would be the one to bring this reality to these people.
Some stupid f**k tipped off the police who somehow knew exactly what i had planned and where. I swear when I get out of this box, if I get my hands on that idiot, I’ll wring his little neck – no, wait. I’ll let him die slowly. Maybe I’d start with his fingernails – pull them out one by one. Then his hair – I could probably use a scalpel to skin his forehead…the thoughts tickled me. There’ll be lots of time to think about that later. Well, wouldn’t you be angry? Wouldn’t you? I was supposed to save these people! I was destined for heroism! And some stupid idiot out of pure selfish reasons majorly screwed up my grand saving act to liberate those people imprisoned in the belief of a god that would heed their prayers. They caught me with the bomb an hour before I planned to blow the whole temple up the sky.
I stared at the extinguished cigarette at my feet and smiled sardonically. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.
© Valerie V. Mayuga 2005
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copyright valerie v. mayuga 2005 |