Chapter One: Allah’s Chosen

The wind hit him with the force of a cannon. He was thrown, bodily, through the air, and landed, making an imprint in the sand. He looked down at the imprint, and realized, with horror, that it was not human. It was that of a monster, a monster worse than any of his nightmares. That was what he was, after all, a monster. He was a bringer of death, a destroyer of the innocent, a killer of the weak, slaughterer of the poor. Was it all worth it? Was the blood on his hands really going to be worth something? Or was he a pawn? Or was he just a simpleton, being manipulated mindlessly? What was he? He was a Chosen of Allah. He was more powerful than a priest could ever be. He had been chosen by Allah himself to serve in His Royal Army- to destroy infidels, wherever, whoever, they may be. And he was supposed to be proud to serve. Yet, as he looked at his imprint in the sand, he wondered. That was the beginning- the dream that planted the seeds of destruction. No longer would, could, he kill mindlessly. He had seen truth- and he must pursue it.

Abdul was born in Iran, September 19th, 1974. Neither of his parents were devout Muslims, and, quite frankly, were quite tired of the constant infighting between the Shiites and the Sunnis. Unfortunately for them, however, the fighting did not stop, and they were killed by the radical Muslim group Allah’s Children. Abdul was then stolen from his crib, taken to Iraq, and was baptized as one of, “Allah’s Chosen,” consisting of himself and several other kidnapped children: Iylias and Isa Izz-Ud-Din, Mahir R’ad, and Wafai Zulfiqar.

The five children were all brainwashed, trained to be absolute and unbreakably loyal to Allah and his priests. They were whipped when they said anything negative of Allah, praised when they said anything good, strangled when there voice rose against the priests, exalted for speaking for them. It was standard brainwashing techniques, common training for the zealots that America would come to know as, “Terrorists.”

Abdul was the only one who truly questioned the teachings, the only one who struggled with the true meaning of the priest’s words. He was the only one who was not excited during kill missions, who did not laugh in pure glee in torture, and the only one who married for love. However, though he was a rarity, the others were not innately evil. After all, praises when good and punishments when bad are standard learning techniques for the brain. It’s one of the ways we learn acceptable behavior. The others were trained it was acceptable; they had no need or want to question.

However, as the years went by, his questions would fade away. It would not be until this dream, nearly fifteen years after he was named an Allah’s Chosen, did the questions rise again. However, they returned with a vengeance. Abdul would never be the same.

Chapter Two: The Cutting

Abdul raised the knife; it was gleaming, silver. It had a disturbing beauty to it. After all, with this simple tool, he could take the life of another man. The power of it. He wondered how the cavemen must have felt, when they first plunged there spears into a foe, and saw they moved no more. It must’ve been amazing.

(Do you really have the authority to take lives? Just because you have the power to do something doesn’t mean you shou-)

He shook it off. He hated this new voice, these new thoughts that popped up in the most inconvenient times. It disturbed him, this voice. The questions it raised… they made sense. But he was forbidden to ask those questions. Such thoughts brought on Allah’s wrath. And he loved his wife and child; he did not want Allah to punish them…

A voice broke through his thoughts, a voice he welcomed, a voice he needed.

“Abdul, where are you? Farida has awoken again, and she will not quite.”

“Coming, Akilah!” Abdul crooned, rushing to his wife’s aid. This was the one person, except his daughter, that he truly loved. In the endless, dark void that was his life, she was the single ray of light that broke through. She was Akilah, beautiful, intelligent, awesome. He could think of no other he would’ve even considered marrying. He had lusted for no other, had wanted no other. She was all he needed, her beauty and magnificence. He would give anything for her.

He ran into the room, but heard no crying. Akilah smiled up at him, and he realized she had already calmed Farida. Farida, his baby girl; how he loved her so. She was so gentle, so pure, so charming. He was still unable to believe how he could’ve-

(And even though you have her your still going to do that thing still going to cut that man let him bleed and laugh at him-)

“What’s that for?” said Akilah, pointing to the large knife in his hand.

“I am going out with the other chosen tonight. We have discovered a man who believes that Jesus is more powerful than Mohammed. We are going to perform The Cutting on him.”

Akilah nodded, obviously upset by this news but unable to say anything. She thought The Cutting was a barbaric ritual, that Allah would never have a man do that to another man. However, though Abdul let her have much freedom, she was still a women, and could not speak of such things. So, she swallowed her words, and instead wished her husband safety. Abdul thanked her, and left for the mans house. The Cutting would go as planned.

A single knock was followed by a tremendous crash, as the door to the house flew off its hinges. They entered, dressed in black cloaks. The man was there, eating a piece of meat. He looked up at the figures, stunned. However, though he was stunned, the men in the cloaks were even more so.

He was white.

How could a white man come to be here? Why, how, when? Questions raced through the men’s head, but were instantly silenced. The first knife was raised. The man tried to run, but he couldn’t. They grabbed him, threw him against the wall. They took off his shirt, revealing his shaved, clean white chest. They scoffed at this man, this pitiful excuse for even the animal that he was. An Infidel, a horrible, stupid, meaningless, disgusting, savage infidel. He would pay for his sins. The knife went down. There was a cry of pain, a horrible cry that echoed through the night, a cry that caused babes to scream, that caused wife’s to grimace, that caused holy men to turn to Mecca. The first cry was the best. However, there would be many more. Again, it went down, and the blood began to flow like a river. It was beautiful, that life sustaining substance, the substance that dripped from this man freely. One of the men cupped the man’s blood, and threw it into his face. The screams became louder. Another slash, more blood, more free flowing, coursing Lifestream. Another followed, and another, never quite killing him, just making his pain soars, making his screams louder. Allah could hear it now, like a chorus, going up and up into the sky. The final cut was coming, though. They laid the cut, bleeding man on the table. He was crying-

(Crying, damn it look at what you’ve done to this man you didn’t even know him but just look at him LOOK AT HIM DAMN IT LOOK AT HIM HE’S CRYING! HE’S CRYING-)

The knife was raised, for the final time. The chants began. They soared louder and louder, mixing with the screams, creating a sound so amazing, so awing that they dropped to their knees and bowed there heads. All accept, of course, the senior member, Abdul. He stood above the man, and he was Death, he had the knife, he was in control

(Caveman your nothing but a caveman a barbarian-)

And he would kill this man. He brought the knife up to his arms full extend, hollered a cry to the heavens, and brought it down. The voices, chants, screams, all ceased. He Was Dead.