Spring Story Draft 2

“Wait here, I have to get some tomatoes and I will be right back with ice cream for our little Akbar,” that was the last thing I had said to Salim. We had wanted to see how the famous busy market of Kabul looked like in action. The July heat and the market’s crowd had made my brunette hair sticky and Salim’s shinny. Our little Akbar had been overjoyed by the colors of the market and exotic wooden toys. I had just gone down the street to get tomatoes because I wanted to impress my mother-in-law. I had seen them as I was walked up the street slowly and Salim pointing at me, probably trying to teach Akbar how to say mom in Farsi. And then BOOM! Suddenly Salim and my Akbar were flying in the air covered with fire. I had tried to run to them but somebody held me back, shouting, “Madame no… no safe… Madame no!!”

“Madame. Madame? Madame?” Ali shook me. “Madame, everything is in position, just need your go.”

I can still clearly picture that day, that very moment that turned me into who I am today.

“Burn them.”

I was never like this before. The old me would never do what I do now. But I want to do this; I need to do this for them. You see, I got nothing to lose. Money is not a problem, thanks to Zuckerburg going public. My only job is to show up at parties to keep up with my public image. I was an orphan, so no family. Death doesn’t scare me; I look forward to joining my husband and son. I am dangerous, people are afraid of me; not knowing my next move makes the FBI lose their hair.

            The attempt bombing in Times Square was my warning. You thought it was some Jihad who didn’t the difference in fertilizers. It was done on purpose; heck I majored in chemistry back in NYU. My moves are unpredictable because I already planned it, in my head. I can go from New York City to some small redneck town. The only commonality in my random attacks is that, everything blows up.

            America will pay for what they did to me. Seeing my baby and husband get blown up drives me. We were only visiting my in-laws in Kabul. Yeah there were freedom fighters but what about the majority of the population? We just want the war to end. We didn’t do anything but still, my husband and son paid for this bloody war. If there is anything I learned being an orphan is that, I have to fight for the things I want. I want America to feel what I felt. I want them to feel helpless like the way I felt. I want them know how it feels to see your life get blown up in front of your eyes. They will know as I bomb places after places. They will see a mother’s pain and a wife’s heartbreak.

            I spent my crappy childhood dreaming of my future. I worked my ass off to get to where I am or was. I tolerated my careless foster mom and drunkard dad so I can get to a better place. I worked night shifts and studied religiously to get a full-ride scholarship to NYU. All my efforts paid off when I met Salim, a shy dork back then, on the fist day of college. He was everything I dreamed of and before you know it, I was saying I do at my wedding or nikkah in Salim’s language. I had everything, but that bomb took everything away with a blink of an eye.

            Revenge is what some may call this, but it’s not. I want them to feel what I felt, the pain that I suffered, and the feeling of your heart ripping inside. I want to see them cry until they until their eyes can’t tear anymore. I thought about ending my misery but it wouldn’t be fair to Salim and my baby. I have to show the people of America that what happened to my family should never happen again. I want to honor them for my conscious before I join them.