"We must deter the Syrian Government from committing such acts again."
Ahmed clutched at his stomach to stop his insides falling out. Blood soaked his little hands and he cried for his mum to help him, to comfort him. Being 12 and having his intestines seeping through his fingers was not the way Ahmed saw his day going. It was going to be a day of playing football and pretending to be Van Persie from Manchester United; it was going to be a day of wearing his new football shirt and trying to be innocent for a day. The gunfire and mortar sounds had become almost natural background noise; today was going to be a day of being a child, not a scared refugee.
But then he saw the white flash of light and now he was dying with his guts all over the floor.
"Punitive military strikes will target terrorist headquarters."
Asima whispered softly in the ear of her husband, "I love you, it's going to be okay." She was a nurse so knew how to comfort and console, love and care. Long ago she had lost sight of who was to blame. All she could see was men relishing in any reason to spill another man's blood. Even in her profession she was surprised as to how bloodthirsty men could be and how cruel they were willing to be. A young lad who lived next door to her had quite calmly slit another man's throat and smiled as the blood splattered across his face. At that moment she had lost hope in humanity; at that moment she felt mankind didn't deserve such a title. And now she tried to whisper words of love to her husband, the rebel, whose arm had been blown off and lifeless body grew colder each long and painful minute.
"It is our duty as a nation to intervene."
Tamim loved Friends. He found the American humour very funny and endearing. He didn't love America by any stretch of the imagination, but he certainly didn't find its policies and ideology abhorrent. He liked to watch the GOD Channel because it amused him that their version of Jesus was some kind of Holy cash machine. His prophet was a prophet of peace and humility, not pomp and greed. But as he watched his village burn to the ground and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils he felt different. It started in his stomach and clawed its way through his body, tearing at the peace, love, grace and mercy that he usually lived and breathed.
Like a thick, black tar the hate seeped through his being and he screamed in anguish as if to release it and give it a sound, an identity. America's long arm had reached his country and wiped out everything he held dear.
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