This is not a War, part I

Ahmed Abdul-Ghaffar was born into this. He never got to wake up one day and say, "Yes, this is what I'm going to do for the rest of my life". Those who watch will say that he made this choice all by himself, but then they have their plush sofas to say that from. No, he never made this decision. Sitting in the back of the jeep, his friend Wisam at his side, he pushed back the tears. It was not an easy transition in one's life. They understood though. His family knew that they were always going to be seeing this day, although they could only see that little Hameedo they always knew. The moment is always expected, but the tears always flow. The only time he felt hesitation was when he saw what no son never wants to see, tears in a mother's eyes. But all the men in that jeep had felt that hesitation, well, at least those who were lucky enough to still have mothers.

The jeep pulled up to a mud hut, and the men stepped out onto the scorching earth. Enough was enough to these men. Watching their women raped, their babies' skulls crushed, their children's lives taken away, and the continued massacre of their people was enough. It had already gone on too long, and they weren't going to let it go on for even one other day. They have left their homes, and have accepted that they will not be returning. Their homes spend their days dealing with this acceptance.

Many have tried to end the suffering, and none have succeeded. They have only convinced those watching that their cause was one of barbarism. It was a worthless cause. Those men continued their efforts in vain, and brought great destruction no to enemy, but to their own people. Twisting ideologies to justify their twisted selves, they gave the enemy a blank check to wreak havoc on their people. No, to Ahmed and the men around him, even those who paraded in the white masks will have to face the truth. Only then will they have a chance to contemplate. To read. To study. To unite under that one great banner.

Tasks were assigned and the men scattered. It was the first day, the first moment, but none let out a sign of nervousness, none let out a sign of fear. To them, this was just another day, just another moment. Ahmed and Wisam were handed the task of writing the letter. They had both excelled in the two years of college that they were able to attend, and it seemed that Wisam's poetry had made its rounds. The letter was finished. Addressed to the enemy, it announced their presence. Then came what the enemy would consider to be a typical set of grievances. After that, would come the point at which one of the enemy would run to find a well-fed higher-up and read him their statement. At this point, the man with the drooping cheeks would drop his cup of tea. The fat man would then order the enemy forces to be on alert, just in case those words didn't prove to be yet another hoax.

"We will be meeting your forces on Nasr road in one week. We will ask them to leave. Upon receiving their response, we will do one of two things. We will either let them leave in a completely peaceful manner, or, we will fight them until they do. We suggest you instruct your forces to leave, as not doing so will make your face puff up and get as red as a rose. We do not wish to shed your blood, but please do note that if it does come to that, we will not hesitate. We will continue to meet your forces until you leave our land. Your civilians will be left unharmed, but such will not be the fate of those we meet in battle. We will inform you of these future meetings at a later date.

And thus the men let themselves be known. In the night, after their congregating for the fifth time that day, Wisam read aloud the letter. The response was that of laughter. It was the first time they had laughed in months, and the experience of it nearly brought them to tears. Both Ahmed and Wisam were glad that the sarcasm went over well, as Ahmed tucked back another, more serious draft deep into his pocket.

Deep inside the Starry Eyes headquarters, Shamin Rajalaka was pondering this newest letter. Others dismissed it, but Shamin couldn't let go because he had studied the other side. He knew their truth, and knew how most of them twisted their truth. He saw them as cowards, and successfully maneuvered the ways of the world to gain sympathy for the Starry Eyes. This letter was different. It held to their truth. Shamin knew what it meant to believe a truth. It meant that nothing would stop one's self from protecting and honoring that truth. The fat men were busy over their tea and biscuits, so Shamin said nothing. Maybe what happens in a week will finally wake the fat men up. Shamin knew not to count his blessings. The Starry Eyes were only lucky until now. The ignorance of the other side played perfectly into their hands, but now they were waking up. Meanwhile, the Starry Eyes were getting drowsy, and Shamin would do nothing for another week. In one week, the Starry Eyes will wake up.

Three days had passed since the letter was delivered, and there was no change at the station on Nasr road. Not that the men expected a change. They had remained ignorant for so long, and that ignorance had become engrained in their selves. It was midday, and the sun was at its usual scorching peak. They had congregated for the second time that day, going to different places, and looking for those who saw the truth. It made them sad to see all those who lost hope, and no longer cared. This would be a fight to wake up their own people. To help them once again find the will to fight, and rid themselves of the cancer their oppressors have always been.

The birds stopped their chirping, and the rustling of the leaves could be heard. With the sound of the tree branch knocking on the window, Ahmed awoke. The sun as usual was not out yet, as Ahmed felt in the dark for the door to the bathroom. Three times over the hands, three times in the mouth, three times into the nose, three times on the face, three times over the arms, then over the head, and behind the ears. Three times over each foot, and he was finished. Ahmed stepped out to smell the freshness of the morning air, clinging to the small hope that it wouldn't be his last. It all seemed so futile now; the planning, the training, the tears, the pride. With this thought, he joined the other men in praying during this dawn of the day, and of their lives. A new light rose when they were done. Ahmed's mind was clear again, and the preparations began.

It was so quiet as the men sat in the jeep, on their way to meet fate head on. It was early, as shopkeepers unlocked their doors, and prepared for the business of the day. Those doors would close soon, with the news finally reaching their hearts. The roads were clear, and there was no sign of any extra patrolling in the area. They stopped at the corner off Al-Riba and Nasr, just out of sight of the base. They could see only a regular patrol around the base. Ignorance was bliss. On the other end of Nasr, the other jeep pulled up and unloaded more men. They clutched their weapons and went over the plan once more.

Ahmed stood next to Wisam, his back to the sand covered wall, with a gun clutched in his hands, and held close to his chest. "This is for my sister. This is for my parents. This is for my brother. This is for my people. This is for you." The click of a pin removed from a grenade was heard, and it began.