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P R I S O N E R 2 8 6
Truth Exposed
*****NOTE***** The title isn't meant to be a put off (its meant to be an eye catcher 😃). And for your information - Jihad means A STRUGGLE! An inner battle with your soul... and YES, when someone occupies YOUR land, you have the full right to fight them... Now I'm not saying Osama bin Laden is right or whatever (God knows if it was really him who carried out that heinous act) but what I mean is that the struggle that the people in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Palestine go through (their land being occupied, and believe me, they don't appreciate it) and when they fight against it (not suicide bombs puhleaze) they're labeled as terrorists. Seriously, if some foreign power came and seized your land from you, what would YOU do? Yes there might be a minority that carry out such acts, but the majority DOES NOT!!!!! Personally, I believe that the media blows it out of proportion! If anyone finds the content of this FF too extreme (or whatever they like to call it now a days) please let me know!******Truth Exposed
Here are some videos you might like to see:
The Road to Guantanamo
21st Century CrUSAders: A War on Muslims
7/7 Ripple Effect
"Lock him in!" the guard snarled. "Nasty little terrorist!"
They thrust an almost limp body into a lonely cell. Kicking him in, they locked him in, making sure there was no escape route for him. Chained to the wall, he sat there, half unconscious, unable to comprehend what was going on around him. He remembered being shoved into an aircraft and that was the end of it. Everything had become blank. Where was he?
Looking around the murky cell, he noticed a sign on the door.
G-U-A-N-T-A-N-A-M-O B-A-Y
Taking a sharp intake of breathe, he almost fainted reading the sign. The horrid US prison known for it's abuse of human rights was containing him. He had never imagined himself to ever enter a prison, especially not one like THIS. What had he done to earn a cell here?
Dread and fear replaced the stiffness in his body, he was ready to endure whatever was to come his way. He raised his chained hands towards the sky and said, "Oh Allah, help me!"
I know, I know, I have two unfinished FF's, but the thought of this one just popped into my mind since I've been hearing SO much about it these days and it keeps bugging me and I keep thinking about it and getting nightmares about it, so I thought it would be nice to pen it out. I mean no offence to any racial or religious group. The character and series of events is extremely fictional, and has been inspired by the daily musings you hear on news about "terrorists". This FF is going to be pretty short and is revolved around a Muslim prisoner and his thoughts (along with the thoughts of his wife and other family members). I do not intend to offend anybody, but if you do feel offended in any way, please let me know.
~Zainab
Part 1:
~Zainab
Part 1:
Name: Aymen Akhtar
Age: 21
DOB: 5/10/1980
Marital Status: Married
Spouse: Fatima Malik
Accused of plotting suicide bombings, having killed a US personal, having ties with Al-Qaeda, hating America, possible contact with Osama bin Laden, funding terrorist activities and supporting the Islamist Jihad.
"Hmm... did he wake up yet?" the Commander growled. Two guards shook their heads negatively. "THEN FR**KIN WAKE HIM UP!!!!!!" Both guards made their way towards the isolated cells, unlocking the door, they crept into the room to find the man asleep with his head hung because of lack of support. They kicked his shin in order to awaken him.
"HEY! Get up, this ain't no place to sleep! It's time for yo interrogation!" They removed the shackles that connected his arms to the ground and forced him up, laughing at his inability to stand up properly due to a leg injury.
"Man, can't even get up!" One of them mocked. They shoved him onto a an unpleasant seat in front of the desk of the Commander, who smiled smugly.
"So, Aymen... Hmmm... what does your name mean?" he asked.
"B-brave," he replied, his head high, but his voice humble.
"Ha! So you think killing people makes you brave, eh?!" the Commander boisterously laughed. "Ya'll are so loony. Really, you should be doing stand-up comedy instead of blowing up bombs!"
Aymen remained silent.
The Commander's laugh turned into a stern expression. "So, how do the tea parties with Bin Laden go? Got any new plans to bomb up innocents?"
"I never had any plans to kill anyone."
"Nasty little liar! How many suicide bombings did you plan?"
"None."
"You won't open up like this, eh? Looks like we gotta do some serious stuff with you... Don't worry, we get lots of hard nuts here. Hard to crack..."
He got up and circled the desk a few times before stopping behind Aymen. "So, young man. Spill and you'll be fine... Otherwise, prepare yourself."
"SPILL!" He gripped Aymen's neck and turned it up so his head was facing the cieling.
"Where's my wife?" Aymen chocked. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. She was either in another prison or she was in some hospital with inadequate care suffering... Where ever she was, he was dreadfully missing her. His last moments with her left him terrorized. He clearly remembered what happened, but then he lost conciousness and found himself here. And now, he was accused of being a terrorist. Am I on the news? I doubt it, they don't show this stuff on national television. But whatever the case, he didn't remember what had happened after he smacked someone because they were aiming their guns towards Fatima. "Where's my Fatima?" he asked again, only to have his face smashed onto the desk.
She silently sat in her own corner. Her in-laws had decided to keep her with them as they were afraid to leave her alone because of her mental state. And they were right. Her husband was snatched away from her. They took him away from her!! Fatima leaned towards the window sill, fat tears rolling down her eyes. The loneliness she felt at this hour was incomparable to anything else she ever felt. She missed cuddling up with Aymen during the evenings, the simple coffee they shared every morning, the 'Bukhari* for Breakfasts' they had every morning, the knowledge he shared with her while she listened acutely, the moments they prayed together, the moments they made dua'a together... She wished he was in front of her so she could wrap her arms around him and feel the love he stored for her. She wished he was cracking jokes with her at this moment. Tears rolling down her eyes, she fell asleep on the sill.
*Bukhari was a scholar who was well versed in the Sciences of Hadeeths and compiled all the hadeeth's (sayings and narrations of the Prophet SAW). So basically, Bukhari for Breakfast is just this cool system to learn the hadeeths hehe... if anyones interested: Bukhari for Breakfast
Age: 21
DOB: 5/10/1980
Marital Status: Married
Spouse: Fatima Malik
Accused of plotting suicide bombings, having killed a US personal, having ties with Al-Qaeda, hating America, possible contact with Osama bin Laden, funding terrorist activities and supporting the Islamist Jihad.
"Hmm... did he wake up yet?" the Commander growled. Two guards shook their heads negatively. "THEN FR**KIN WAKE HIM UP!!!!!!" Both guards made their way towards the isolated cells, unlocking the door, they crept into the room to find the man asleep with his head hung because of lack of support. They kicked his shin in order to awaken him.
"HEY! Get up, this ain't no place to sleep! It's time for yo interrogation!" They removed the shackles that connected his arms to the ground and forced him up, laughing at his inability to stand up properly due to a leg injury.
"Man, can't even get up!" One of them mocked. They shoved him onto a an unpleasant seat in front of the desk of the Commander, who smiled smugly.
"So, Aymen... Hmmm... what does your name mean?" he asked.
"B-brave," he replied, his head high, but his voice humble.
"Ha! So you think killing people makes you brave, eh?!" the Commander boisterously laughed. "Ya'll are so loony. Really, you should be doing stand-up comedy instead of blowing up bombs!"
Aymen remained silent.
The Commander's laugh turned into a stern expression. "So, how do the tea parties with Bin Laden go? Got any new plans to bomb up innocents?"
"I never had any plans to kill anyone."
"Nasty little liar! How many suicide bombings did you plan?"
"None."
"You won't open up like this, eh? Looks like we gotta do some serious stuff with you... Don't worry, we get lots of hard nuts here. Hard to crack..."
He got up and circled the desk a few times before stopping behind Aymen. "So, young man. Spill and you'll be fine... Otherwise, prepare yourself."
"SPILL!" He gripped Aymen's neck and turned it up so his head was facing the cieling.
"Where's my wife?" Aymen chocked. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. She was either in another prison or she was in some hospital with inadequate care suffering... Where ever she was, he was dreadfully missing her. His last moments with her left him terrorized. He clearly remembered what happened, but then he lost conciousness and found himself here. And now, he was accused of being a terrorist. Am I on the news? I doubt it, they don't show this stuff on national television. But whatever the case, he didn't remember what had happened after he smacked someone because they were aiming their guns towards Fatima. "Where's my Fatima?" he asked again, only to have his face smashed onto the desk.
She silently sat in her own corner. Her in-laws had decided to keep her with them as they were afraid to leave her alone because of her mental state. And they were right. Her husband was snatched away from her. They took him away from her!! Fatima leaned towards the window sill, fat tears rolling down her eyes. The loneliness she felt at this hour was incomparable to anything else she ever felt. She missed cuddling up with Aymen during the evenings, the simple coffee they shared every morning, the 'Bukhari* for Breakfasts' they had every morning, the knowledge he shared with her while she listened acutely, the moments they prayed together, the moments they made dua'a together... She wished he was in front of her so she could wrap her arms around him and feel the love he stored for her. She wished he was cracking jokes with her at this moment. Tears rolling down her eyes, she fell asleep on the sill.
Well here's part two. If anyone finds it offensive, PLEASE, PLEASE let me know...
*Bukhari was a scholar who was well versed in the Sciences of Hadeeths and compiled all the hadeeth's (sayings and narrations of the Prophet SAW). So basically, Bukhari for Breakfast is just this cool system to learn the hadeeths hehe... if anyones interested: Bukhari for Breakfast
Part 2:
"Can I write to my family?" Aymen asked a guard standing outside his cage. He was now literally held in a cage with a few others whom he didn't know, but whoever they were, he knew they were his brothers. The humid air struck his face as he watched the stars twinkling in the distance.
"No! Get some sleep! You got a long day tomorrow!" he shouted, kicking the cage. A soft murmur came from a caged companion. For the stark night, it was much of a loud noise.
"Hey YOU! What're you reading?" the guard diverted his attention towards the soft noise. The man looked up from his book. "WHAT ARE YOU F***IN READING? Give it to me!"
The man looked around. The others woke up due to the commotion. How was he to give the book to the guard? There was no hole.
"I said give it to me!" He unlocked the door, snatched the book out of the man's hand and inspected it. "What's this SH*T? Your plans for the next terrorist attack? Or Osama's personal diary, hahahahaha! No way, you read Osama's diary as if you're reading POETRY!"
"That's... the Quran." Ah, the Quran, thought Aymen, he didn't have one with him, but at least someone did. The companion of the prisoners and the source of condolence for the lonely at the times of hardships and trials.
"OH! Your freakin holy book aye? Full of plots against us, eh? Your freakin Prophet commands you to kill us, don't he? Cause we don't believe in your ******n Al-la!" He threw the Quran on the floor with such a force, it fell flat on and kicked it around as though it was a soccer ball. After a several kicks, he picked it up and threw it in a bucket, a bucket used for urinating.
Another man stood up, "DON'T YOU DARE BADMOUTH THE PROPHET!! Respect the Quran! It's not any old book!" One by one, they all stood up in protest. Different languages could be heard protesting. Yells and shouts came from every corner of the cage. Aymen remained quiet for a bit, but after a few minutes, when his anger started boiling, stood up too.
A few minutes later, five guards were brought to the man who had been reciting Quran. One kicked him from here another from there, another punched his face, another his head. He fell to the ground, moaning in pain. They stepped on him and kicked him. The shouts slowly receded.
"Who wants a piece of this??" A guard held out his fist. "Huh, huh? Ya'll wanna piece of this? Well then you better shut your mouths!"
They all sat back down. Aymen looked at the bucket in which the Quran was brutally thrown into, then at the guard.
"DON'T LOOK AT ME! EYES DOWN!" he yelled. Aymen looked down and rolled his eyes. He looked around to find who had yelled at the guard and found him held in a right corner cage. Their eyes met and they smiled at each other. Their smiles grew larger when they noticed that they hadn't come to the attention of the guards as of yet. Aymen looked back down at the ground and wondered how it had all started. Faint memories came back to his mind...
"Salam sweety..." Aymen entered his home. Boy, was it nice to be home after a tiring 3-day business conference. "Fatima? Where are you? Faaaaatimaaaa!?" Entering the passage to the living room, the house seemed dead empty. Everything was silent.
"No! Get some sleep! You got a long day tomorrow!" he shouted, kicking the cage. A soft murmur came from a caged companion. For the stark night, it was much of a loud noise.
"Hey YOU! What're you reading?" the guard diverted his attention towards the soft noise. The man looked up from his book. "WHAT ARE YOU F***IN READING? Give it to me!"
The man looked around. The others woke up due to the commotion. How was he to give the book to the guard? There was no hole.
"I said give it to me!" He unlocked the door, snatched the book out of the man's hand and inspected it. "What's this SH*T? Your plans for the next terrorist attack? Or Osama's personal diary, hahahahaha! No way, you read Osama's diary as if you're reading POETRY!"
"That's... the Quran." Ah, the Quran, thought Aymen, he didn't have one with him, but at least someone did. The companion of the prisoners and the source of condolence for the lonely at the times of hardships and trials.
"OH! Your freakin holy book aye? Full of plots against us, eh? Your freakin Prophet commands you to kill us, don't he? Cause we don't believe in your ******n Al-la!" He threw the Quran on the floor with such a force, it fell flat on and kicked it around as though it was a soccer ball. After a several kicks, he picked it up and threw it in a bucket, a bucket used for urinating.
Another man stood up, "DON'T YOU DARE BADMOUTH THE PROPHET!! Respect the Quran! It's not any old book!" One by one, they all stood up in protest. Different languages could be heard protesting. Yells and shouts came from every corner of the cage. Aymen remained quiet for a bit, but after a few minutes, when his anger started boiling, stood up too.
A few minutes later, five guards were brought to the man who had been reciting Quran. One kicked him from here another from there, another punched his face, another his head. He fell to the ground, moaning in pain. They stepped on him and kicked him. The shouts slowly receded.
"Who wants a piece of this??" A guard held out his fist. "Huh, huh? Ya'll wanna piece of this? Well then you better shut your mouths!"
They all sat back down. Aymen looked at the bucket in which the Quran was brutally thrown into, then at the guard.
"DON'T LOOK AT ME! EYES DOWN!" he yelled. Aymen looked down and rolled his eyes. He looked around to find who had yelled at the guard and found him held in a right corner cage. Their eyes met and they smiled at each other. Their smiles grew larger when they noticed that they hadn't come to the attention of the guards as of yet. Aymen looked back down at the ground and wondered how it had all started. Faint memories came back to his mind...
"Salam sweety..." Aymen entered his home. Boy, was it nice to be home after a tiring 3-day business conference. "Fatima? Where are you? Faaaaatimaaaa!?" Entering the passage to the living room, the house seemed dead empty. Everything was silent.
"BOO!!!!"
"AAAA!!!! WHO IS IT?! WHO IS IT!?! LEAVE ME!" A hand gripped his neck.
"It's meeee, dimwit!" She appeared in front of him.
"Ya Allah! You scared the hell out of me! Not funny!!" He said, as she burst out laughing.
"Yes it isss, you should've seen your face!!"
"Yeah right... I think we need to take a vacation."
"Another honeymoon?" Fatima giggled.
"Yeah, something like that," Aymen winked.
"Where to?"
"Hmm... Kashmir... India, Dubai... where ever you want."
"What?! Are you crazy? You wanna go that far? Isn't it going to be too expensive?"
"Nah, c'mon... Don't worry about that! There's enough cash."
"Whatever you say. How about Afghanistan?"
"You're telling me I'M crazy?!?! Girl, what do you wanna do in Afghanistan?"
"I don't know, I've been intrigued by Afghanistan lately. Oh and I've got a friend there too. She told me it's a beautiful place and wants us to come over."
"Friend?"
"Yeah, college friend... She's American, I don't know how she landed up there though."
"Ok well, if my lovely wife wishes to go there... Ain't afraid of the talibans?"
"She doesn't live in a Talibani area, Aymen!" Fatima laughed.
"Wow, sure is a dusty place." Aymen adjusted his sunglasses in place as the hot sun shone on their faces. They had landed in Kabul and were strolling the streets, looking for a place to eat.
"I'm hungry, here carry my bag," Fatima said, as she slung her large coach bag onto his arm.
"You're so mean to me," Aymen made a puppy face. "Aha! Look."
They looked into the distance and found a sheltered area where in they could have some rest and food. A few local men and women stared at the couple because of their odd sense of dressing. Finally reaching what looked like a mini-restaurant, Aymen greeted the shop owner.
"Assalamu-Alaikum!"
"Wa Salam!"
"Urdu?"
"Jee... Aap kaha se aye hai? Aapko yaha kabhi nahi dekha hum ne..." the shop owner, who seemed to be a jolly man with a big belly and well groomed white beard.
"Hum... America se aye hai," Aymen replied, with his American accent.
"Ohh, Acha, ayye ayye. Marhaba, beht ye, main aapke liye khana lata hoon!" After leading Aymen and Fatima to a table, he disappeared into a room and in a few minutes came back out with two plates. A few others sat around munching and cracking jokes in a language Aymen and Fatima couldn't understand, but broke into smiles seeing them laugh.
Everyone's attention suddenly turned towards the TV set, as the voice of an American women was overheard. The joking stopped and everyone sat silently, awaiting news. Flashes of bombing were shown, and then a picture of Osama bin Laden.
"The United States of America has launched the war on terror in Afghanistan. A few hundred troops have been assigned to begin the hunt for Osama bin Laden who, according to intelligence agents, has retreated into a cave south of Kabul. Bombing is expected to start during midnight in suspected Taliban supporting habitations. The objectives of this war, as stated by the Bush Administration have seemed to be clear: we are under threat from al-Qaeeda and other such extremist groups who threaten to destroy America, and thus, the War on Terror is being fought to abolish any acts of terrorism and bring justice and freedom."
Aymen and Fatima looked at one another. They surely hadn't come at the right time.
Ok there we go... Part 2. Kinda boring 😆 I can sense that by seeing the dull response... Anyways, harsh part... I think... again, if anyone finds it offensive, let me know.
Part 3:
They were unable to get to Amena, Fatima's friends house. Everyone in the shop insisted that they stay over at the shop over night as it would be extremely dangerous to leave at this time of the night, especially with a million American troops surrounding the area they were currently in.
"It's not very safe. We've seen them around here quite a few times. They kidnap anyone with a beard," said Ameen, the shop owner.
The surroundings desolate as Aymen peaked out of the window which was heavily covered with thick curtains to provide a certain sense of security which didn't exist in their lives anymore.
"Don't look out the windows! They'll see the lights coming from here!" someone whispered. Faint noises of bombing could be heard in the distance.
"Awful timing, Fatima," Aymen whispered to her. They were sitting side by side in a corner.
"I never bothered to watch the news... I didn't think the outcome of 9/11 would be a WAR?" She whispered back. "Aymen, I'm scared."
"Shh. We'll see if we can make it to your friend's house and then book a flight out sometime this week. Not a big deal, hun. You worry too much," he chuckled.
"You never take things seriously!" Fatima wailed. The lights suddenly went out and the room was pitch black. Sounds of huffing and puffing came.
"Looks like the power got cut again, kya mushkil hai!"
"Heh! You take things TOO seriously! Now go to sleep!" With that, he pulled her into his lap, hoping the small gestures of love would comfort her, because he wasn't too sure of the situation himself, but hopefully they'd be able to get a ride in the morning. Kissing her forehead, they both fell asleep.
"Sahib? It's time for Fajr!" The shop uncle shook his shoulder. Aymen jerked up, causing Fatima to fall off.
"Are you okay? Yikes... I'm sorry," Aymen offered a hand to her, which she accepted.
"I'm fine. Ahem... Aymen, Uncle's here," Fatima whispered.
"Oh. OH..." He let go of her hand. Ameen tried to hide a smile. The couple reminded him of the time he spend with his wife, who no longer lived.
"I've arranged a van for you two. Be ready, it'll be here right after fajr," he said, and lead them to a bathroom.
After praying, they sat with their luggage waiting for the van to arrive. There was pretty much a dead silence in the room. Everyone seemed to be staring into space in anticipation as to what would happen next. After what seemed to be a million years, the remaining brood of five men got up, bid their farewells and left. Now it was just Aymen, Fatima, and Ameen.
"How long have you been married?" Ameen asked.
"One month, it's a month today," Aymen smiled.
"Mashallah," a warm smile appeared on Ameen's face. In the world of cruelty, Ameen and Fatima were the first people he came along, after months, who shared so much love between each other. "May Allah keep you two happy."
"Are you alone, Uncle?" Fatima asked.
"Yes, beta, I am. My wife passed away years ago and my children were killed during the Soviet invasion. Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah..." His sad eyes floated to the ceiling. "It was a difficult time for us, when the Soviets came here in hopes of seizing our land from us, but we fought them and drove them out. They made it a living nightmare for our families, oh I remember those days. And now, America wants to invade our lands and establish "freedom" by killing us." Shaking his head, a fat tear escaped his eye. "But we are very stupid people too, fighting amongst ourselves... fools, fools..."
Aymen and Fatima had no words of condolence. Aymen patted the old man's back and tried reassuring him.
"Beep, beep!"
"The van is here," wiping his tears, he hugged them. "Take care of yourselves and stay out of trouble. And do remember me in your dua'as."
"Inshallah. We'll visit you on our way back," Aymen told him.
The endless journey continued on the bumpy road. Aymen and Fatima had fallen asleep, but when the car came to a sudden halt, they woke up. Smoke appeared from the hood. The sun brightly shone over the arid land and habitat was becoming visible ahead.
"Where are we?" Aymen asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Outskirts of Kabul," replied the driver. "I think we lost the way..."
"What? I think we can ask the people there," he pointed at the nearby fort.
"The outskirts? I thought we were going from Kabul TO Kabul, how did we end up here?" Fatima asked.
"Ya heard... he lost his way..." he watched the driver speaking with a man. "What a journey! I'm already tired."
"Aymen, are you sure we'll find our way back?"
"Chillax..."
The driver returned, shaking his head. "They say that there have been a lot of bombings in this area since last night... No idea where your friend's house is from here."
Fatima started panicking. "Aymen..."
"Fatima, please!" His tone turned harsh. The sense of being lost always made him feel uneasy. "Look, I'm sorry... we'll find the way back! Don't worry so much!" He gave her a pat of reassurance and turned back to the driver. "Do they have phones?"
"Yes."
"Ok, Fatima, you should call Amena and ask her for directions or something..."
"Salam Amena?" Fatima spoke into the phone. She had been led into a narrow room. She gasped, noticing bags of gun powder and missiles and such items in a corner.
"Fatima!! Where are you guys? We've been waiting!" Amena's booming voice came from the other side.
"We got lost... stopped at a shop yesterday and spent the night because there were bombings and now we're in outskirts and the driver has no idea where Kabul is."
"Ugh... Afghani drivers! Typical of them! Tell him to catch the highway somehow, he should know? And are you guys okay? Nothing's happening here, we're pretty fine, but then again, we live in a rich people's area so we wouldn't know... Allah protect them!"
"We're fine... just LOST." After a few minutes of discussing directions and streets and what not, Fatima hung up. Thanking the residents, she left the house.
"Here, I got the directions to the highway..." she said, handing a piece of paper to Aymen. As he read the paper, truck loads of men appeared at the entrance of the fort, each one carrying arms.
"They're coming! They're coming!" They jumped off the trucks in large numbers, waving the guns at the sky. Fatima looked up at the sky, finding two helicopters circling the area... then it hit her. They were a bunch of local fighters.
"Everyone has to evacuate this area! Come on! Get out, get out!!" And before they could resist, Aymen and Fatima were pushed into a pick-up truck.
I know.. i know.. kinda boring... 😛 But it'll get a little more interesting in the next part, when they're separated. Comments please! They keep me running!
They were greeted, not so cheerfully, by more Afghani policemen shoving them into a large building with only two windows. It was not a pleasant place. It smelled horrible. HORRIBLE. Enough emphasis could not be given.
Part 4... kinda late... but 😃 enjoy (if that is possible) and purlease comment!!!!!!!!!!!!!! About a thousand views and no comments. But for those who did comment... THANK YOU!! I luvs you 😳
It was a hell of a ride on the cargo plane from Afghanistan to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba though Aymen had no idea where they were taking him and many innocent others. Hands and legs chained, they had gone through sensory deprivation. The soldiers blindfolded them and on top of that added masks on their faces. It was a LONG journey, and they were made to sit with their backs straight. If they leaned a bit or moved their hands or legs to suit their bodies, they were kicked, which was no fun since they were too weak to even respond to the pain anymore. Deprived of any type of nutrition, most of the "prisoners of war" were malnutritioned and dehydrated.
"Ouchhh!" Someone kicked the cage, disturbing his thoughts. "Damn, what was that for?" Aymen stared at the guard who had just almost kicked him in the face, like literally.
"You ain't supposed to be leanin on the fence, you ********," the guard snarled.
"Why?"
"You know the rules..." said the guard, walking away.
"To hell with the rules, man," Aymen muttered under his breath. His back was hurting him and he wasn't allowed to lean on the fence, or even lay down. Not only was it getting boring, it was getting treacherous to sit under the extremely hot burning sun. Aymen guessed he was somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, near the equator. Africa, Mexico.... somewhere someplace...
A few weeks went by... nothing happened. No interrogations were done, no questions were asked. Nothing interesting happened. Then one day, when Aymen finally grew accustomed to the frequent kicks and boredom, he was taken for interrogation. He was made to stand on his knees in front of an army commander, and two soldiers besides him. One held a gun to his forehead. Aymen was almost certain the soldier would shoot him; he could hear the frustration of the trigger.
ok, there... Part 5 after a long time, god knows who remembers this depressing little piece 😛 I really hope the story isn't getting boring... please let me know if it is. Oh and after you read this, you might need some cheering up, so watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f4dQNrpUeU
Part 6:
Part 4:
Fatima was the only woman in the truck. Squashed behind her husband, she tried to comprehend what was going on. They were being carried away in a truck with a bunch of armed men. She noticed Aymen kept pushing her back, trying to keep her covered with his body. If it hadn't been for the deodorant he wore in the morning, he'd be stinking. Sweat was pouring from his body.
"Yuck..." she said.
"SHH!"
"Sorry," she whispered. "You smell good..." she smiled, leaning onto him.
"This isn't the time to sniff me!"
"Should I pinch my nose closed?"
"Trust you to make a joke out of a serious situation."
Fatima giggled. "I'm tired."
It was funny when she was tired, at least Aymen thought so. She just got more hyper, like a child.
"Go to sleep, but just hold on to me..." After a few minutes, he felt her weight leaning onto him.
"Wife?" a man near him asked. Aymen nodded. "It's dangerous for women to be around here. It is a war zone."
Did he just say war zone?
"And what are you wearing?" The man's voice attracted everyone's attention. "Are you American?"
"Uh... yes," Aymen said, unsure about their reaction. He was American, right? Born and raised in the West as an American Muslim, that was his identity, unless they meant his ethnicity, because to him, American wasn't an ethnicity or race, just a mere culture. He'd heard that Afghani's hated Americans.
"What did you come here for?"
"Oh just vacation... visiting a friend."
"Ok."
The heat was agitating. The heat of the sun was pouring in as the afternoon approached. And then again, the knowledge of not knowing where they were headed was making him shudder. They were lost enough in the middle of no where and were now riding in a broken truck with a bunch of Talibanis.
The ride seemed endless. The sun was beginning to hide behind the barren lands. As the sun was more than half hidden, the truck stopped and everyone jumped out. Aymen woke Fatima up... It was time to pray.
After finally finding some water for wudhu and praying, they all lay on the ground resting for the night.
Aymen and Fatima chose a spot far from the rest.
"Where are weeeee? How did we land here, ugh! I'm sweating Aymen!!!! And it's getting cold now..." Fatima wailed.
"I have no idea where we are, and there is no other way..." Aymen sighed.
They sat on the sand, hand in hand, staring at the stars. Nearby a bomb exploded. The sound of a woman's despair could be heard in the distance. A bright orange flash dispersed into the air.
"Depressing..." said Fatima.
"Let's think of something happy..." Aymen suggested. He knew if they kept talking about depressing things, she'd break down in a while.
"Truth or dare?"
"Not dare, it's too daring."
"Fine, truth. How many proposals did you get before marrying me? And how many did you propose?"
"Um... quite a lot. I mean I got a lot of proposals, and Mom made me see quite a few girls too..."
"How many got rejected and why?"
"Only one got rejected. I rejected the rest," Aymen smiled smugly. "This one girl's father rejected me because of my beautiful beard. Sad, I kind of liked her... Uhh... not more than you though," he added, seeing daggers in her eyes. "You're the best and will always be the best."
Disrupting their last sweet moment, a bomb exploded nearby. And this time it wasn't in the nearby village, it was literally at their foots. Just a few miles away, the fire it produced could be clearly seen from the hill top. Everyone scrambled up to their feet and scurried to see what was going on. After a while, lights flashed above their heads and it was clearly seen: helicopters. They were circling the vicinity, perhaps in the hopes of finding talibans?
The men hurried to set up their weapons and aimed at the helicopters. The beautiful starry night was yet ruined for the people of the country. Instead of admiring the stars in the sky, they shrank into their homes for the fear of bombs, missiles, and whatever else was related to that.
Despite the helicopters having passed by, all the men remained awake the entire night, on the look.
As time passed, they took turns sleeping. Soon the streak of dawn was visible on the horizon. Without further delay, everyone got up, washed up with whatever water that remained, and performed Fajr salah in jamaah (together in congregation).
"We're heading for Kandahar now," said a man with what looked like blonde hair. He looked no less than 25 years old.
"Um... ok," Aymen replied, acting as though he knew where Kandahar was. "Where is Kandahar?" he whispered to Fatima.
"Somewhere far off south."
"Huh... thanks smart cookie. They're taking us all the way down there, what do we do now?"
Fatima shrugged. If this was bad, she wondered what a trip of two more days would do to her. Already nauseated, she felt like vomiting. Her head was spinning like crazy and if it wasn't for Aymen, who she was leaning on for support, she would have dropped down.
"Fatima, are you fine?" Aymen asked.
"Kinda, not much..."
"What's wrong?"
"My stomach's paining..."
"Uh oh... is it time... you know... for THAT..."
"Yeahhhhh..."
But before their conversation could be carried any further, a huge truck drove up and over a dozen Afghani police men jumped out and shoved everyone into it. It wasn't a small jeep like truck. It was a TRUCK, the big type.
Shouts of protests erupted as they were being pushed. Fatima made sure she was stuck to Aymen tighter than super glue. The door was sealed shut and oxygen was blocked out.
A few minutes into the journey, they couldn't breathe properly and were suffocating on the smell of their own sweat.
To make their long story of suffering short, they finally arrived at an unknown location. The door was FINALLY open to let some air in, but there was no use of it now. No use... because out of the 50 people that were mercilessly pushed inside, only a few survived, and Aymen and Fatima thanked Allah that they were one of them. The blond man who informed them of their next destination, which they never reached, seemed to be breathing as well.
They were greeted, not so cheerfully, by more Afghani policemen shoving them into a large building with only two windows. It was not a pleasant place. It smelled horrible. HORRIBLE. Enough emphasis could not be given.
Fatima was famished. Not only famished, she was getting weaker by the moment. She was unable to stand up, and it was hard to sleep in a place that stunk, plus there were too many men around, so she stayed glued to Aymen, who was unable to keep himself upright.
A few weeks passed in such condition. They were given bread and water twice a day and that was it. Fatima and Aymen passed their time talking to each other, recalling the moments they spent together... and their plans for the future. They told each other jokes and gave each other comfort and company.
"English? English?" A guard shouted, one day. Aymen shot his hand up, a pure instinct. Perhaps help was on the way. The guard pulled him up and pushed him out roughly. He was let out of the door and presented in front of a soldier. An American soldier... dressed in a green army (er what are they called?) suit with a AK47 at his side (that's the only gun name I know 😃). Aymen was made to kneel on his knees in front of him.
"So where are you from?" Another soldier behind him tied his hands behind his back.
"New York."
"You filthy scum! Traitor! You're AMERICAN? What were you doing in Afghanistan????"
"I... came on a trip," Aymen made sure to keep his wife out of it, as soon as he realized that they weren't here to help him, but rather to harm him.
"For WHAT?"
"Visit a friend."
"DON'T LIE TO ME! You know Osama, you're Al Qaeeda!! You came here to get trained for Jee-had."
"No I didn't."
"Shut up you @#^!&*%@ (Random curse words). Take him in with the others!"
The soldier who had tied his hands behind his back along with a few others dragged him away... his destination unknown to him as he remained in the dark, having no idea as to what he was going to encounter soon in the future... Having no idea what this trip had planned for him.
Part 4... kinda late... but 😃 enjoy (if that is possible) and purlease comment!!!!!!!!!!!!!! About a thousand views and no comments. But for those who did comment... THANK YOU!! I luvs you 😳
Part 5:
It had been quite a few hours since Aymen had vanished. Fatima began to panic. She was all alone with no one around, feeling extremely weak and depressed. After waiting for hours for her husband, she asked an Afghani guard about the "white man" who was taken out a while ago.
"The one with the blue eyes and dark hair?" the guard asked.
"Yes, him... do you know where he is?" she asked.
"They took him."
"Where? Who?" That didn't sound like great news. He was probably taken some place awful, or else he would've called for Fatima.
"The you know... Americans. They took him to their prison in Bagram, I think. Awful place, awful..." The guard shuddered.
"What? They took him? Why? What did he do? Whaa..." The horror of the reality struck her. She was ALONE in a prison surrounded by unknown men who everyone called Taliban, and trust the news reporters, they weren't kind people, were they?
"They say he's a terrorist."
"That's what they call everyone here," said the blond man, who had previously informed them about their destination, which they never reached. The guard shrugged.
"Your bread will be coming soon..." saying so, he left.
The shock of such alarming news left Fatima numb. They had only been married for... what? One month. No, she lost track. They had been rotting in prison for quite a few weeks, they had no idea what the date was. When the bread was brought, she refused to eat.
"Eat, you'll get sick otherwise," said the blond man.
"I don't care."
The blonde man shrugged and ate his bread. "You don't have to worry so much. You'll be with your husband soon enough. If you don't eat, you won't be strong enough to find him."
Fatima smiled for a bit, then took the bread. Well, at least some company helped.
"What's your name?"
"Raheel."
"What are you doing here?"
"You sound like those foreigners who come and ask us what we're doing in our own land," he laughed. "Well, my country is being invaded, and... I don't want it to. They'll just make it worse for us, the way the Soviets did."
"I see... You're alone? No parents, wife, nothing?"
"No. My wife was killed... right in front of my eyes."
Fatima gasped and decided it would be better if she didn't ask further questions about his wife, even though curiosity was going to kill her soon enough...
Night approached, and Fatima was reluctant to sleep without Aymen. Throughout their stay here together, she'd sleep with him, feeling a sense of security. But with Aymen gone, his whereabouts unknown, how could she feel secure? Oh and the fact that she was around men, how was she to sleep? Isolating herself from everyone, she chose a corner to stand awake and stare at the stars... making dua'a that she get out of this hell hole soon.
It was a hell of a ride on the cargo plane from Afghanistan to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba though Aymen had no idea where they were taking him and many innocent others. Hands and legs chained, they had gone through sensory deprivation. The soldiers blindfolded them and on top of that added masks on their faces. It was a LONG journey, and they were made to sit with their backs straight. If they leaned a bit or moved their hands or legs to suit their bodies, they were kicked, which was no fun since they were too weak to even respond to the pain anymore. Deprived of any type of nutrition, most of the "prisoners of war" were malnutritioned and dehydrated.
"Ouchhh!" Someone kicked the cage, disturbing his thoughts. "Damn, what was that for?" Aymen stared at the guard who had just almost kicked him in the face, like literally.
"You ain't supposed to be leanin on the fence, you ********," the guard snarled.
"Why?"
"You know the rules..." said the guard, walking away.
"To hell with the rules, man," Aymen muttered under his breath. His back was hurting him and he wasn't allowed to lean on the fence, or even lay down. Not only was it getting boring, it was getting treacherous to sit under the extremely hot burning sun. Aymen guessed he was somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, near the equator. Africa, Mexico.... somewhere someplace...
A few weeks went by... nothing happened. No interrogations were done, no questions were asked. Nothing interesting happened. Then one day, when Aymen finally grew accustomed to the frequent kicks and boredom, he was taken for interrogation. He was made to stand on his knees in front of an army commander, and two soldiers besides him. One held a gun to his forehead. Aymen was almost certain the soldier would shoot him; he could hear the frustration of the trigger.
The commander was sitting across him in a chair, a table across him, smoke emitting from his mouth and nose, and if it was possible, it would be escaping from his ears as well.
"So... you're Al-Qaeeda," the commander said, acting as though the accusation was the biggest truth of all time.
"No," said a too-weak-to-respond Aymen. The gun was roughly shoved into his forehead. Aymen gasped.
"You were being trained to be a suicide bomber in Afghanistan!"
What. The. Hell. Him? A SUICIDE BOMBER? "Why would I wanna be a suicide bomber?" Aymen asked.
"I should be asking you that *beep* question!! You piece of *beep*!!!"
"I'm not willing to purposely kill myself for anything."
"Not even for All-lah?"
"Allah doesn't require me to do that for Him."
"Why do ya'll do it then?"
"Messed up retards."
"Guess what? I've got news for ya."
"What?"
"You're one of them."
"No." Another shove from the soldier. He wanted to yell. He wanted to tell him to stop kicking him. He was a human, not a piece of shit anyone could kick around as they pleased. He had rights.
"Look, how about this, you just ANSWER MY *beep* QUESTIONS and I'll leave ya alone? Stop wastin my time! You're Al-Qaeeda!"
"What the freak, man, how many times do I have to tell you, I have nothing to do with them!"
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?" He was punched in the stomach. Hard. He remembered the times he wrested with his friends. It was all friendly, but this was painful. It almost felt like his skin would rip apart and his insides would fall out. "That's it, put him in solitary, give 'im a good lesson!"
"When do we get to go?" Fatima asked Raheel. A guard had recently informed them that many people would be freed, but he didn't know who. Fatima's optimism told her she was going to free soon. It was hard to kill her optimism.
"They'll let you go, you're a woman, but they won't let me go..." Raheel said.
"No, they'll let you go too," said Fatima. She had listened to the heart-wrenching tales of his childhood in Pakistan and Afghanistan, and about his good times when he met his wife, but alas, happiness never lasts in this world...
"You have too much hope. Aren't you afraid something will one day make it fall mercilessly?"
Fatima shrugged, "No... we'll be out soon, I'm su-" A man entered the quarters. He wasn't one of the gruff guards who came on a daily basis to throw food in their faces, neither was he one of their guards who sympathized and pitied them. He was a tall man with broad shoulders. Yes, he had a stern and brusque air to him. Fatima guessed he was a high ranked officer.
"Everyone may leave from here."
"He sure feels generous today," said Raheel, picking up his coat as he stood. Fatima's heart bloomed with unexplainable happiness. They were finally out of this misery, a misery she was unable to bear anymore. Itching her lice demolished scalp, she leapt up in joy, ready to get out.
The 20 men and one woman lined up in anticipation. The guards at the front were performing searches on everyone. A sudden shiver went through Fatima's body. She didn't want strange people to perform a "search" on her!! Soon the line got shorter, they were getting closer to... freedom?
Ok, I'm going to skip the part where the search is supposedly performed, because I have no idea about it. I've wondered how they could do that to a woman, it would be extremely disgraceful and shameful... and might be offending, so maybe I'd be better off skipping it. However she gets through, she's out of that horrific place now.
"Where do you want to go now?" Raheel asked. He offered to give her company as she had no knowledge of Afghanistan and it wouldn't be safe for her to travel alone while every corner of every city in the country was being bombed.
"To my husband, but that's not possible yet. How do I get out here? I want to go back home... how though? I don't have my passport. It probably got bombed along with the building."
"Surely you must know someone in Afghanistan."
"Yes, we came to visit my friend, Amena... I don't have her contact information though." Giving up, Fatima slumped down to the desert ground.
"You give up already? I think you used all your optimism in the hope that you'd be free soon," Raheel laughed. "We can get her contact information, don't worry about that."
After traveling several miles by foot, they reached an inhabited area. And mind you, it took a long time. The village was bustling with noises of children playing, music and anasheeds enlightening the dusty road, beggars lining the street, jugglers and clowns putting up a show... all in all, it was a scene in a war torn country. Fatima didn't think there would be any happiness left anywhere, since it was drained out of her life, but entering the village gave her a sense of comfort and happiness. People smiled at them. She hadn't seen a smiling face in a long time. Ah, the feeling was great!
"Bhai sahab!" Raheel called out, to a man who was using the telephone booth. He spoke to him in a language foreign to Fatima. She guessed it was Pashtu. For all she knew, Raheel was Pathan. He had a pointed nose like the typical Pathan.
"What's your friends name?" He turned to ask her.
"Amena Khan." After a while, Fatima heard Amena's booming voice speaking in Pashtu to Raheel. Hearing her voice gave Fatima delight. It felt so amazing to hear a familiar voice. She felt as though a great burden had been taken off her shoulders.
"Great, I got your friends address. I can take you, or arrange for a ride," Raheel offered.
"I'd rather you come with me. It's scary... alone."
Throughout the journey, Fatima stared out the window. Tears slid down her face. For the first time, reality dawned upon her. Her husband was no longer with her. Where was he? Was he even alive? Or... did they kill him? NO, NO! Her head jerked away from the window as they passed by a dead body of a man who had been shot, his clothes stained with BLOOD. Hadn't anyone bothered to bury his body? Her body trembled, she felt extremely lonely. Fatima loved being around people, people she loved, who seemed to be missing at the most crucial point of her life.
The taxi stopped in front of a building... or rather, the remains of one. A limb dropped from a window. Fatima was sure that was what she saw.
"Excuse me! Why did you bring us here? Are you crazy?" Fatima yelled at the driver. She wasn't mad at the driver for bringing them to the wrong location, rather the fire from the building and the limb falling from the window terrified her. What kind of senseless person would like to drive around a bloody town?
"Ma'am, this is where you wanted to come," said the driver. Fatima turned to the freshly bombed building. Then she realized, it was her friends posh apartment building.
The rubbles of the building fell to the ground. The smoke spewed great heights, almost touching the pure sky. As a child, clouds fascinated Fatima. She'd imagine walking through them, feeling their softness. Oh how delightful it would be if the clouds came down to the earth, she had thought. But now, when there was a cloud in front of her very eyes, right in front of her... or at least it really looked like a cloud from the heavens, but it was associated with the death of her friend. A memory that would haunt her the rest of her life; every time she'd see a cloud, memories of her beloved friends death would be at the top of her mind.
ok, there... Part 5 after a long time, god knows who remembers this depressing little piece 😛 I really hope the story isn't getting boring... please let me know if it is. Oh and after you read this, you might need some cheering up, so watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f4dQNrpUeU
Part 6:
It seemed like a dream to her. A nightmare. A sudden disturbance in her life. Not even in her nightmares did it ever occur to her that she'd go through something so unexpected.
For Raheel, it was something he'd been through before. His home had been blown up as a child during the Soviet War. He remembered every single detail of that day, and this day reminded him so terribly of it. He almost saw his mother running out of the house, fierce flames roaring up her legs as it ate her flesh.
He glanced at Fatima. Her face was expressionless... pale. Her eyes were blank. He couldn't figure out what was taking place in her mind. Perhaps she was too shocked. From leading such a comfortable in America to a disastrous journey in Afghanistan, he was sure she would break down soon, but him, he was used to it.
She couldn't say anything. The world froze around her. Her arms went limp. This really wasn't happening, was it? It was just a nightmare, Fatima thought. I'll wake up real soon, right? I'm still at home with my husband, I never went to Afghanistan, I never got stuck in prison for no reason... it was just a dream.
But... sadly, pinching herself, she realized, that NO, it was no dream. It was real. It wasn't something she was seeing in newspapers or on TV, she was actually standing in front of a news headline. But this was a headline that would never be broadcasted on national television.
She tried yelling. She tried screaming. But the agony was trapped within her body, unable to make its way out. She silently turned away from the window overlooking horror to find Raheel observing her reactions. A stabbing pain went through her heart. Perhaps the hurt was building up inside her, it would soon bubble out.
"Driver, do you know where the US Embassy is?" Raheel spoke. The driver nodded his head and drove through the rubble.
The ride was silent except for the constant sound of rocks rubbing against the tire.
"Here," the driver said, stopping the car.
"Brother, forgive us, we don't have any money. We just came out of prison," Raheel pleaded.
The taxi driver glanced at the large building. The man wants to go to the US Embassy but has no money for a poor taxi driver.
"It's okay," he said, despite himself. Looking at the condition of the woman with the man, pity arouse in his heart.
"May Allah bless you and give you what you deserve for helping your Muslim brother," Raheel said with all the gratitude he felt for this man who had helped him when he was desperately in need.
As he turned around to face the enormous steps to the building, he saw that Fatima had already climbed half-way through. He quickly caught up with her.
"You want to go home that badly?" he teased.
"Wouldn't you if you were in my place?"
"Well, yes I would, but I was tortured in my own homeland. I can't go anywhere else to escape."
"Is there something I could help you two with?" a woman asked as they entered. "Maybe I should bring a translator..." she mumbled.
"No, that isn't necessary, thank you," Fatima said.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Oh no, no problem, you can't really guess I'm a foreigner with my current condition."
"True. So how may I help you today?"
"I want to speak to my parents," Fatima said. "In the US," she added after getting a confused look from the woman.
"Oh, sure!"
Fatima quickly dialed the numbers on the phone, surprising herself. She still remembered her parent's phone number.
"Hello," came her mother's voice.
"Mama," Fatima spoke. "Mama? Mama, please take me away from here, Mama, please!!"
"Fatima, beta!? Calm down, what's wrong? Is everything alright, where is Aymen? Fatima?"
And as Raheel had predicted, it wouldn't belong before she dropped the burdens she was carrying since she last saw her husband's face. She sobbed hard. The tears burned through her eyes and nose. Her body shook with the rhythm of sorrow as her heart raced abnormally. Raheel wiped the tear that had suddenly slid down his face.
"Mama! Aymen, I d-don't kn-now w-where h-he is! Mama please do something, I wanna go back home! I miss you, Mama!"
"Shhhh, meri jaan, first tell me what happened," her mother said. She had heard the sobs of her daughter. Not even as a child had Fatima cried so much.
"Mama, they took us to a prison and then some people took Aymen away from there and I don't know where he is. I miss him."
"Where are you now?"
"In... the US Embassy in Kabul."
....
The days passed by in a blur. Fatima's parents came to Kabul to take her back with them.
Raheel went along with Fatima and her parents to the airport to bid them farewell.
"Where are you headed to after this?" She asked him.
"Where ever life takes me. I have no where to live, no money... but Alhamdulillah (All praise is due to Allah, said when expressing gratitude to Allah), I'll survive. If there is any motive left in my life, it's to live for Allah, that's it."
"Why... why don't you get married again?"
Raheel shook his head. "I loved only one woman and always will. I wish to be in Jannah with her. You know... if I get married again, I probably won't be with her," he smiled.
"Sweet," Fatima smiled remembering the one night when Aymen had told her the same thing. "Anyways, a gift for you..." She waved a box in front of his face.
"No, not at all. I do not except it. Goodness, if I accept that gift, I won't get any reward for helping you! Please don't oblige me!"
"It's not for helping me. It's for YOU because I want to give it to you, and Aymen would've wanted the same, even if you hadn't helped us. Please take it. Tsk tsk, very bad. The Prophet never refused gifts, and you!"
"Ok ok, fine! I'll take it!"
"Don't open it until I leave."
...
And that was the story of her life. There was no sign of Aymen. It had been over a month and Fatima refused to believe that he was dead. Aymen's mother had tried forgetting her son, as much as she loved him. His father had locked himself in the farthest room in the house, reading newspapers and watching the news hoping to get a glimpse of his son. All those dreams they had dreamt, all those maps they had drawn of their future... but alas, Allah had his own plans and Fatima accepted them because only He knew what was better for them. After all you learnt life's lessons from experience, and this experience allowed her to feel the pain that others felt, the pain that was engraved in the script of newspapers and magazines.
But one day, something arrived at their doors with an ordinary looking envelope.
"Fatima, who is it?" Her mother-in-law asked as Fatima opened the door.
"Post guy.. nothing interesting..."
"Oh." Fatima knew her mother in law still had an iota of hope left in her heart.
"Ma! It's a letter from Aymen!" A bright smiled appeared on her face, the smile that was once wiped off.
"OMIGOSH!!!!! MA! He wrote to us!! Baba!! COME HERE! IT'S A LETTER FROM AYMEN! HE'S ALIVE! I TOLD YOU ALL!! YA RABBI! ALHAMDULILLAH!"
"Huh, shoo? Did I hear right? Aymen is alive? Read the letter, fast!" Aymen's father came running into the front room.
"It says 'Bismillah, 4 those who <3 me, I'm alive and in gitmo. Don worry 2 much. 2 weak 2 rite more. Make dua 4 me. I <3 u all.'" Fatima's heart skipped a beat realizing that Aymen was alive. Her heart rejoiced, but at the same time faltered as she thought of him rotting in a cell. Sadness took over her for he was dearly missed at home. His absence had cast a dark shadow over their normally bright and jovial home. Oh and where was he? Gitmo? She'd never heard of that name before... where was Gitmo?
wow... I sure took forever to update, didn't I? Not much of a part 😕. I didn't like it much... oh and I thought I'd put a picture of how I imagine Aymen to be 😆😆😆 so it's easier for you as well... the one on the left! Though I understand you might find the one on the right more good lookin 😛 and... Fatima... um... well she's a desi chic 😃 an even thinner version of preity zinta
*EDIT* Argh damn it! The pic wont come up here... u'll just have to take a look yourself: http://imuslim.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/soundofreason.jpg?w=500&h=375
*EDIT* Argh damn it! The pic wont come up here... u'll just have to take a look yourself: http://imuslim.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/soundofreason.jpg?w=500&h=375
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