CH 1 Return of the Beast "The Twelfth Imam"

The woman known as Beheshteh poured the warm, slightly muddied river water over the man’s parched lips. Her daughter Armina had gathered the water that morning from the Karkheh River. The man didn’t look like he weighed much more than she herself did. He looked starved even though he had noble features. He had not eaten in a long time. Armina had found the man just a half hour earlier returning back from one of her many daily trips from the river.

She had thrown the edible roots that she had gathered from along the river bank for the soup her mother would prepare for the evening meal. Before the vegetables hit the ground she was running to tell her mother about the dead man on the path.

Beheshteh had to have her daughter repeat her tale because she was talking too fast and slurring her words. When she was clear on what her daughter had said she grabbed her staff that she used more for the wild dogs that had recently started grouping in packs than for walking. If this man had died from the recent plague they had to get his body burned. Outside she gathered the supplies she would need, glass jar of fuel and matches. She headed down the dusty path with her daughter leading the way. Only to find when she knelt beside the corpse it wasn’t a corpse at all, the man spoke.

It wasn’t him speaking that had startled her as much as what he had said. She had not heard that name spoken since she had been a little girl. Somehow with the help of Armina they had managed to get him back to their small house. They laid him on the thick rug that had been put on the dirt floor in the corner.

Now she poured more of the river water on his lips managing to succeed in getting a few drops of the life giving water past his parched lips. He struggled to speak, but she hushed him and told him to save his strength.

In the six days that passed the man slept, his fever passed, occasionally he would take soup he was offered. He started to resemble more the noble than a corpse. During these six days life around their home continued as it had always done. But Beheshteh often thought on the name the sick man had given as his own. It surely was just the ranting of a fevered man, but still she wondered.

On the evening of the 6th night the man spoke again. Beheshteh’s back was to the man. But it was to Armina that he spoke. She was preparing to see if the man would take some soup if she placed it to his lips.” How old are you dear” was his first sentence. Beheshteh turned to look at them and her daughter turned to look at her mother. Her mother nodded and Armina answered, “fourteen” she said. “You are a big help to your mother.” How would you know these things?” You have been asleep from the fever.” The man just smiled, then asked. “Why do you hold your arm to your side always?” Armina did not blush but told the man how she had been born with her left arm much shorter than her right. She looked down to see the man’s eyes were closed and he was sleeping. She did not know how much of the story he had heard. She placed the bowl next to his mat. She then went to help her mother with the rug making.

A World I know Not

I awoke to a world that I knew not
In the second Great War I had gone and fought

Is this the America that I grew up in?
Was the second war the last we had fought to win?

Like me. The country is old and sick.
Will the flame of the late great America be snuffed from the wick?

Where is the Doctor, is he in?
Is he prescribing for all, tonic and gin?

We need a new physician, I heard of a man named Paul
He wanted to lead , we said no,now will America fall?

Now I have this new healthcare,is it good, you ask?
I went to the new doctor and he had me drink gin from a flask

He told me I was sick but to old for a heart stent
He said there were younger folks ahead of me so home I was sent.

I lay here thinking of the winds of change
I don't hurt now and that's strange.

Who is at the foot of my bed?
It's the Great Physician, he places hands on each side of my head.

I look back as we leave. I see a body that I recognize, a world that I do not.

Winds of Change

“The winds of change are here….can you feel it?”

The man spoke as if to himself those words, low soft and barely audible.

He stood on a hillside, face dirty, ragged, bloody uniform that didn’t fit.

Their ammunition was about gone, the fighting force had shrunk, it wasn’t very mobile.

“We hadn’t started this war, they had flown the planes low, they fired the first shot.”

The soldier thought back to high school when he had seen the plane hit the tower.

25 years since he had joined the war, and was sent to Iraq to fill a dead mans slot.

The military was pulled out of Iraq in 2010; the enemy had gained confidence and power.

They had gained the whole world, until only America stood alone.

They were like locust, huge black clouds descending on the nations of the world.

The nations fell one by one, until all of their governments lay prone.

Only one nation had stood proud, its mighty flag flying high and unfurled.

The locust had spied the fruitful plains, the purple mountains, lined up like bowling pins.

The solider wiped his brow, and from memory tried to recall where liberty once stood.

“We fight for you lady, we will do our best, but only God knows who wins.”