Flash Fiction Response

This is a quick response to Major's Flash Fiction. I wrote it a bit quick before going to work so excuse any errors and autocheck nonsense lol. The words were SYRIA,  BLACK PLAGUE,  ELECTION,  BATH SALTS.

It was a hot a sweaty day and even hotter in the Syrian prison where I lay spread out on the ground hoping for a breeze to sweep away the humidity that stuck to me like marmalade. what I wouldn't give to be in Madame Lectreve's whore house in Rhodes right now; Pampered and seduced; slipping into a warm bath. one of those large, old-style, free standing ones with the golden feet you sometimes see in western movies 'this is a classy establishment indeed' I whisper as one of the young and pretty, half naked girls drops bath soaps into the bath, the multicolours glistening in the light that strobes through the silk-strewn windows on a warm autumn's day.

I had come to Syria for the elections, it was my job to make sure the right candidate won. All had gone well, Mohammad Homsi, an unpopular candidate but one that offered certain trade rights with certain western countries was winning in the poles. I had done all the hard work, I just had to sit back and watch everything unfold exactly how I had planned.

When I first heard the phrase: Black Plague, I passed it off as something that was almost a myth, something dark and apocalyptic; synonymous as witchcraft to the dark ages. I had no idea it would be something that would sway the votes and turn a bought crowd to a panicked mob.
Ghais Assadi, a modest but well respected Muslim leader, spoke reverently about the "black plague" that was starting in the west, the plague of western civilisation proliferated by its own corruption and greed. threatening to spread across the world in a wave of putrid rot. only by shutting the world out would they be saved from the damnation... Heavy shit...

In a way I could kinda see where they were coming from. With the world changing and recession getting more malignant, Syrians were feeling the pinch. This last moment political sway was like a quickly changing current. one moment I was happily swimming by the calm shore; the next I was being dragged out to sea, the panic starting almost too late for me to swim to shore.
I knew what the election results would be as I quickly packed my bags and headed for the airport in a taxi. uninformed militia blocked the roads . I jumped out the taxi and threw a handful of cash to a kid with a motorbike. the cash would have bought the bike ten times over. I knew some back roads through the city and made my way through, my mind racing as I tried to remember the route through so many turns and alleyways.

I got to the airport and saw the last plane out of Syria fuelling up 'thank god I'm not too late' I could see the entrance to the airport surrounded by hundreds of people all trying to get out; I would never get through in time. It was a crazy idea but I was desperate. I saw that one of the shanty style houses had a roof that was above and slightly over hanging the airport fence. Fuck it. The ground floor door was flimsy and the motorbike went through it with relative ease, a mother with her three children who was screaming clutching them towards her soon shut up when I threw down enough cash to feed her family for a year. The kids grabbed for the notes still falling from my pockets as I revved the bike up and skidded up the stairs to the next floor. The whole house started to shake as reached the third floor. it was amazing that it was still standing considering what it probably was made of. I got to the roof and looked down to the fence. It was tall but if I got a good run at it I should just about make it.

I revved the engine and headed towards the end of the roof. before I got to the end, the roof collapsed and the bike started to fall; me with it. the momentum carried me far enough but the bike hit the fence and i went flying over it with the bike getting tangled up in the wiring. I knew it was going to hurt as i hurtled towards a sand dune. I hit the sand face first then front flipped twice before landing on my feet for 2 strides then rolling on to my back. I struggled for breath as i lay there in the sand the sun beating down on my face.

I calmed myself down and got my breath back. Remembering the plane, I got to my feet. The neighbourhood kids waved and cheered. with a slightly fazed smile I gave a little I'm-ok wave and headed for the plane. They had stopped refuelling it. I started to run and as I got closer waved my arms. The steps were still down and I saw one of the flight crew still at the bottom looking at me.

I finally got there. the flight crew recognising me let me through the security who were nervously pointing their rifles at me 'phew' I said, slumping into the seat 'I thought I would never make it' an elderly man, a little tatty but with an air of power around him turned around to me 'neither did I, Mr CIA man' ah shit, it was Ghais Assadi âI have commandeered this plane to tour my new country that you so desperately wanted to make into western sovereignty, but you see; we are wise to your ways by now. Indeed you may see us as a backward country, a savage country. You may think you have all the intelligence and all the power; but you will never know our people the way we know our people.

Uploaded 06/17/2012
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Tags: fiction pascho