Short Story O'Rama: All Welcome

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Um...hi, this post is for all of us SPers to post our short stories we have written, be it satirical or whatever.
Note: This is a short story criticizing the media.

“Lies”

I

The room was immediately hushed, the plastic chairs and desks drew together, huddled over the huge TV. The teacher just stood there, leaning against his desk. His wire glasses propped over his hooknose, brushing his hand across his gray hair, he picked up the remote, and held it in front of him stiffly. Pressing the buttons twice, it started. It was just some animation at first, and then it all went black. A flicker, and the view panned out to reveal a large hall; it was simply adorned with a plush red carpet and a simple oak podium. A man walked, probably in his fifties, dressed in a starched three-piece suit. He reached the podium and shuffled the papers. Finally he spoke. I couldn’t hear a word he spoke, it just washed over, endless droning. And then it hit, loud and clear.

“…We are here to overthrow his regime, and free the people…” then I really couldn’t here a thing. I saw his mouth move but heard no sounds, all I could think about was the endless repetition of that statement. We are here to overthrow his regime, and free the people. We are here to overthrow his regime, and free the people. I couldn’t think of anything else. An open declaration of war! That didn’t scare me per se, it made me excited, in my life I had never experienced war, well of course I have never, but the thought of war just got me light-headed.

I was suddenly back in focus, and I looked around the classrooms. Some of my class mates had smug I knew it looks on their faces. Others were frowning or dazed as I had just been. I tilted my head towards the teacher, his face was impassive, but it seemed that a sullen shadow had invaded his eyes. The man on the TV ended his speech. The teacher sighed and turned of the TV, pushing his glasses up he looked around, and languidly he breathed in.

“Well, you saw it, what do you think?” he said lazily. Several hands shot up at once and waving around madly. Pointing at some one he looked up.

“Yes?”

“W-well, I think it is wrong to attack them, event though they have done many bad things.” Upon finishing his statement, he was soon met with glares and boos.

“And why is it bad?” The student looked up and smiled sheepishly.

“Just because…”

“Mmm hmm.” He pointed at another student.

“Well I think it’s a good thing, they have made people suffer, and it’s time to pay ‘em back.” This time there were cheers. And I am ashamed to say that my voice was among them, he continued. “Besides we can’t lose, we are the worlds most powerful country.” Again more cheers. The teacher looked straight at the student, then looked around the class room.

“We will see. We will see.” The bell rang, and all of us messily shoved our binders and books into our backpacks, and scrambled out the doors.

The cafeteria was buzzing about the war, arguments for pro and anti war were the topics of the day. But soon all of this was forgotten.


II


A few weeks had passed and the land was ours. During those weeks we were bombarded with information, the coalition casualties and deaths, but never the enemy’s. Newspapers forced upon us heaps of numbers about the coalition, ever darkening the image of the enemy. Magazines showed us the suffering of our soldiers, but never the enemy.

During this time, it had all become normal in our lives, we had grown to love and sympathize our nation and our allies, and hate our adversaries with such conviction that even the devil would shy away. So great was our hate, many of us needed the utmost restraint to keep ourselves from spitting on the images we saw of the enemy. So great was the media influence that we believed that their land was a land of barbarians, of animals, in which not even a soul would be spared from our invincible army.

I was bathing in this stagnant pond all this time. Soaking in every word as if it were the words spoken by God himself. I argued and fought with all who opposed me on those this subject, even my parents. Every night it was always the same.

“Jaysus boy, doncha understand, these are jus’ one sided arguments, some of ‘em are even lies!”

“It’s not true mam, the government doesn’t lie.”

“The government ne’er lies? Ha! Why do ye think me and yer dad left out then?”

“But that’s another country’s government, mam, our one will never keep anything from us.”

“We will see. We will see.” At this point, my dad would look up from the newspaper and frown, and my mother would stomp off upstairs. And I would just follow her with my eyes, and then turned back to our TV.

Several more weeks had passed and the headlines changed, from war to peace, stating how docile the people were, how the soldiers policed the land with a firm but just hand. I never thought these as lies, until the weekend of the fifth week of the war.

My parents brought me back to their real home across the sea to visit their relatives. We rented a small hotel room, threw all our stuff down and went to visit Grandma’s. When we got there everyone was in a festive mood of sorts, my uncles, aunts, and cousins were all there, packed under one roof. The festivities started quickly enough everyone was talking and laughing. Yet no matter whom I talked to I felt uncomfortable, and detached. So I quickly removed myself and picked up a newspaper. I would never forget what I saw. But I remember it all four 20,000 lb bombs, on a neighborhood. A father getting shot in the head just for driving a car. A bomb dropped right through a mall. Anarchy ruling the people, and the soldiers getting what the government wanted, not the happiness of the people, but the amount of oil in their oil tanks.

I read it all that day, all the horrors, all the casualties everything. Just as I have learned to hate the enemy, and love our soldiers. I had learned to hate this war, and us. And it was then I understood what my teacher, and my mother meant when they said those words I have discarded so easily. And I could never forget their meaning as they plague my mind day after day. We will see. We will see.

 

My name is Fahid and I am twelve years old. I was a prisoner in a prison full of children. Many were younger than me, most were a bit older. We were fed bread twice a day, and sometimes, as a treat we were given meat. We were all dirty and dressed in rags. There were large pots in the corner of each cell that we used for toilets. I cannot remember when I last had a bath or something warm to eat. I have been here for two years.

We were not beaten, there was no need. No one here had the courage or the spirit to fight back. Perhaps it was crushed when we were pulled from our families and thrown in here for reasons made up by a twisted mind. The nights were the worse. Many of the children sobbed, pleading to Allah, to anyone to hear their pleas and set them free. But there was no one to hear and no one to care.

I am free now. I have heard all the rhetoric. It makes no difference to me, and perhaps if you were in that prison with me, it would not matter to you either. I am free, free to go where I like, free to say what I like, free to be what I want. But freedom frightens me. Sometimes I want to destroy things, anything. Why? I am not sure, but a feeling grows in me until I feel I might explode, at other times I am in awe of this emotion, it fills me with such happiness. In time, I will accept freedom and help shape a better country, a free nation. I am only twelve, but I know to attain freedom, to live with liberty, I need to be patient. We all need to be patient, and just maybe, with patience and the rhetoric silenced; we can all help to rebuild my country. I can dream now and perhaps someday I will be the leader of this free nation.