fiction fantasy first attempt
January 11, 2007

It has been four days since my last bath and I really cant bear it any more. I am not a fan of baths, having been a graduate student once. But then there is only so long that a man can stay sane with the ickiest thing that mother nature produces stuck to his skin - blood. If however I share this knowledge with the man making the smoke rings that seem to be rising from my feet, he will raise his head, take his cigarette out of his mouth and give me a dirty look. Extremists I have found, treasure their reveries more than the great thinkers of our society. But its not politeness that is keeping me down and quiet. First there is the small matter of the M16A3 - an assault rifle once commonly used by American and Israeli forces - with a full 20 round magazine that my cohabitant in this dank cave likes to wield. And in the unlikely scenario that he decides to let me get up, I will find a neat hole in my heart from a sniper bullet before my eyes can take in the expansive view of the White Mountains that the ridge offers. The 'Kafirs' try not to spare any extremists in these parts knowing that they will not get any useful information out of them. More importantly they know the general area that we are in. Which is why it makes no sense that Abdul is smoking. But I barely know the guy and he says he has a plan to get out of here alive. So I keep my trap shut and slip into my own reverie in this cold suffocating cave that barely fits two people.