A Fish Pitched Up by an Angry Sea

In the early morning hours, while the sky is still as dark as lamp-black, we set up a traffic control point. Olive skinned soldiers proudly execute their duties without flaw. However, as those who live lives of strife know, those whom till the fallow fields, breaking their backs to raise the corn, beaten into submission by the boiling sun in a rainless summer; doing a good job does not ensure success. A car approached the young man at break neck speed, easily exceeding 80 mph. Brakes locked, tires squalling. The acrid smell of burning hydraulic fluid and melting rubber filled the breezeless air. Spinning, grotesque loss of order. The patriot who risks his life in hopes of restoring honor to his fatherland is airborne, head over heels, his body performing an ungainly somersault. He sees the familiar neighborhood houses inverted and dancing crazily around his bewildered eyes. People not present doubt, but he is alive! Conscious even! No maiming, disfiguring injury is to be suffered this day. Allah has moved from the balcony to the pit.