These are just plain opinions; they can be rejected, refuted, argued against or accepted. These words are not meant to impose my ideals upon anybody , and they are not going against the law of the diversity of thoughts~~

Wednesday, 28 November 2012

Go home~

                    I have created a portal gun. It took me all my time and I poured all my efforts into making this; which could stand as an explanation for my falling grades. I found  a manual of portal gun making 101 in the world wide web, which constitutes of a rather complicated list of materials and procedures, but man, I did it. First of all, do you have any idea what a portal gun is? It's a gun that makes portal, get it? You shoot once at a wall and shoot again at another surface, and a portal is created which connects both places.  Man, this is difficult.

                The manual suggested a few ramifications and improvements that allow the creation of portals  using electromagnetic waves, which means one can create a portal here and shoot another far across the seas. There, you can travel thousands of miles in a second. The problem was to project the wave of the right  intensity to produce  a portal at the intended place. A microscopic error causes the portal to be displaced hundreds of miles away. I displaced the projected portal in the depth of Carribean seas once, resulting in a fish rain in Mantin.   Nevertheless, the portal gun was a success. After hundreds of tries ,during a skipped maths lesson, I managed to create a portal to a place which the gun was built for. I created a portal to Khan Younus, Gaza.

                 I went into the portal in my bedroom cupboard and entered a very  small house . It was nothing like Narnia. I saw a chair and a sickly thin kid, before someone hit my head with a bowl, and my whole world went black.

               I woke up and found myself tied to a chair . My head hurt like hell. There was a young man standing infront of me, clutching his hands together.  He looked way younger than I was, but his complexion was more like an old man. Pain-stricken and tired.

                "Who are you?" , he asked in Arabic , with a slight Palestinian accent.

          I managed to explain myself and about the portals, as he happened to be a student at the University of Palestine, and he understood English well.

        " I am nothing but a friend. I want to help, however possible".

          His name was Hassan. He lived in that small house with a younger brother and a very sick mother. There were scars all over his arms and burns upon his chest. His face was burdened with sorrow and pain, but it glowed with warmness and solace.

          " How do you wish to help?",he said. " You are just one man. Even with that strange machine of yours, there is no way you can help. I know that this thing can transport soldiers and support troops from everywhere else, but they had decided not to come for the past fifty years. Why would they come now? Hear now my friend, their fighter jets are raining us with bombs, and you people who fear death more than anything, can do nothing if you really come, but to die in masses"

          " Haven't you ever wonder, how we managed to sustain ourselves after such a long time? We should have went extinct years ago after barrages of chemical bombs and air strikes. It is not the brute strength of men that kept us alive, my friend . You people can't even stop bickering about fast food restaurants while we are dying here, and you wish to help?

                People out there are still being indecisive about our situation here, even after so many died. They came to this land and smeared Al-Aqsa with their filth. They came with guns and tanks, while we only had self-made rockets and rifles. They took our homes and killed our brothers. And some of you are still making decisions! Have they forgotten Shabra and Shatila? Aren't there enough deaths already? We pledged to the world with our bloodied hands and broken limbs, and the world ignored us. We tried to retaliate, and they named us the militants. When was it wrong for one to defend his religion and his nation? Indeed , Allah is our only help and our only support.

            Go home, my friend. There is nothing you can do. It is too dangerous here. I knew that deep in your heart, your only wish is to help, but you will only die in vain. I look at your face and I knew it.
When was the last time you and your friends prayed Subuh together? You have no chance against these animals, if such is the case.  When was the last time you recite the Quran, my friend, if you really want to fight with us?"

             I went back without being able to say even a word. I am weak, helpless and insignificant. This fat lump of meat can do nothing there but die. I returned and swore to come again.

        " I can help. I can bring some bread and meds, if you want to, Hassan"

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