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A Crucible of Scribes

A Crucible of Scribes

Author Archives: guestscribe

25 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by guestscribe in Action

≈ Leave a comment

The Interview

The room was sparsely furnished. Just an old beat up table in the corner, and the one in the centre of the room where Samir sat; a vacant seat opposite. There were no windows and it was consequently gloomy. The bag over his head was removed and a light at the other side of the table shone directly in his face, blinding him. His hands were manacled to an iron ring welded to the surface of the table.  He sat there for what seemed an eternity before the sole door to the room swung open and a shadowy figure strode in and sat down.

The heat was stifling and Samir tried not to let his fear show, but it was a losing battle. Sweat poured from his brow and into his eyes, making them burn like they were on fire. He tried blinking, but it only made matters worse.

The shadowy figure produced a manila envelope and emptied the contents onto the table.

“So, you want to join the “Jihad” against Western Powers. Why”?

Samir’s mind raced. He’d been told that the local branch of al Qaeda were recruiting operatives and that this often meant being sent to the West to live there and await orders for the furtherance of the “Jihad”.

“The Western infidel thinks he is better than us Arabs. He must pay for assassinating our leader”.

“Are you prepared to give your life for Allah”?

Samir knew this question would come. It was inevitable. That was the thing with extremists. In the end it always came down to giving your life for Allah. And that was what made Samir different. He couldn’t have given a damn about Allah. But he would give his life to ensure that his wife and children had a chance of escaping to the West.

“It would be a supreme honour”.

“Very well then. You just might get your wish, and have a chance to serve Allah”.

The shadowy figure rose and left the room.

His eyes having become somewhat accustomed to the glare, Samir was able to catch a glimpse of the contents of the envelope. On the top of a thin pile of papers was a picture of his wife. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He knew that background checks would be done. But it still left him a little uneasy. It was the shadowy figure’s way of letting him know that they know all about him; and whose life was actually at stake.

                                                                                                                                                 John Carter

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The Streets of London

20 Sunday Jan 2013

Posted by guestscribe in Song Titles

≈ 3 Comments

I have read the work of my good friend the Bushman and been inspired to explore what writing talent I may have. Under his encouragement and guidance I have written my first piece, “The Streets of London”.

I hope you enjoy it.

 “John Carter”

 The Streets of London

The streets were always quiet at this time of day. That was OK. Samir liked the solitude. It gave him time to think. Time to reflect on his plan of escaping the destitution that had been his life in Islamabad before coming to London. And what the pitfalls of his plan might be.

Driving the streets of London in his taxi afforded him the perfect opportunity to run drugs for the mob. No-one would question why a taxi was stopping haphazardly and for only a few seconds at a time. That’s what taxi’s do.

Start at the bottom they said. Work your way up. Dedication and loyalty are richly rewarded. If we can trust you, they said, you’ll go far in this business. Double cross us, and your family will pay the price.

The rear door opened and closed.

“Trafalgar square please”.

Samir flipped the meter on and pulled into the deserted street.

“We’ve been watching you”.

Samir’s blood ran cold. He saw the badge in the rear view mirror.

“We know what you’ve been up to. Quite the little scheme you have”. Samir’s eyes flitted to the mirror and back to the road.

“That’s OK. We’re not necessarily after you. It’s the “Kingpin” we’re after. We’d like you to help us get to him, in return for witness protection”.

Only one thought ran through Samir’s mind. Witness protection was OK for him, but who would protect his family?

John Carter

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