The American
At night I toss and turn watching my mind?s replay of people jumping out of the WTC, a hundred stories up. I hold back tears at every US flag flying at half-mast, at every sign of solidarity. I struggle to talk, to smile, to hope. I?m explosive. My fury is the rumbling building; my heart pumps jet fuel. My mind burns and tears at the walls of reality, and my world crumbles. All that is left is a bent and smoldering fury and not a soul upon which to direct it. War. Our flag waves war. Red, war. White, war. Blue, war. I see war in our faces. I hear war in our voices. It parades down streets, it titles our resolve: New War. I have heard citizens call for war, my father demand war, my country declare war. My humanity screams war! And then falters without a guilty people, without a guilty country, without a guilty religion upon which to wage it.
Yet I struggle to find an enemy; we all struggle to find an enemy to rise against and crumble. I want to destroy their cause, their existence. I want to rage. But I am left unaided to commune with my country, the world -- humanity. We weep amidst rubble and smoke, death and fear. We weep at the tragedy; we weep without justice.
Do we strike? Bomb Afghanistan, bomb the Taliban, bomb countries that may have transgressed against us? There is our war! Do we not have the greatest power in the world? Our might is legendary. Our power, beyond challenge. Why should we entertain repose, even for a moment? Let us strike first and then consider! Why find the Terrorist who wielded destruction on America? Are they all not to blame? Why wait? We know who they are; we know where they are. So, let us bring the mighty hand of America upon their doubtful heads and shatter them into a thousand pieces like so much sand in the wind.
But is that not what we should fear? From one hateful group, we spawn a thousand. In one death a thousand stand furious, determined. Will not their violence reap...
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