KADDISH FOR SADDAM HUSSEIN

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By Fawzy Zablah

My name is Hassan Al-Hazeem and once upon a time they called me the pride of Baghdad. I was a rapist for hire under then dictator Saddam Hussein. I had the longest, thickest penis in all of Iraq. I could rape a woman and she would come back for more and they all loved me. Because they always came back and called too. Isn’t that the test of a true lover? Okay, don’t look at me that way. Okay, okay, I am lying. I am a liar. They never came back. But they were infidels and inside their hearts they wanted to come back. And yes, yes, I was a rapist for hire, woman-abuser.

They would awake us at four in the morning, the rapist squad, and give us goat cheese and bread for breakfast. It’s a favorite moment of mine- to be sharing a silent meal with pals before a raid. It reminded me of Tom Cruise and his pals in the epic film Top Gun, where America fights the communists. Okay, okay, they weren’t really my pals. There was always much competition in the squad. Members had the how do you say? The bickering, the cadyness. Who had larger, thicker, penis? Who could go the distance? Who was so handsome that the victim just give themselves to him? We were an elite squad, even if we didn’t really get along we were efficient. We were like the legend James Brown would say, the sex machines. I believe that some of the hostilities had to do with some particular members being to bossy trying to tell others what to do.

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Fat Habibi was a thorn in my side. He was an
oversized bully who thought I was weak and would bow
down to his imperialistic fatness spread out all over
his now gone thighs resembling an egg. He tried to
trip me once, by putting out his leg, and I regained
myself and shoved him until he lost his balance. Very
lucky for him that our shift manager was in the
vicinity and I did not continue. That was some very
good luck for him, let me tell you, for I would have
defeated him like Iraq did America in the war for the
Gulf.

Did I mention I crossed the border into Iraq before
the war? Well I did and it is the truth because I
don’t always lie. I am from Palestine so that would
make me a born again Iraqi? Or a Palestinian in Iraq.
That was a joke and it doesn’t matter that you don’t
laugh.

I will enter into my origin story briefly, for
every hero has an origin story. I will state my reason
for crossing the border. Armageddon was set to begin
when American went to war with Iraq and since my
stepfather kept scolding me about entering some type
of employment I decided to leave. I ran off after
leaving a very wordy emotional letter to my mother and
little brother Mohammed-a good kid who longs to be a
football star. Long-story short, I ended up in Baghdad
to defend her against her enemies. I joined the Royal
Guard and moved up in rank in a matter of months.
Later I was promoted to the Super Secret Rape Squad
after being caught with the mistress of an army
captain. Apparently, according to rumors I much
impressed the generals with my girth.

So where was I? Our grand leader Saddam had called on
a meeting of the SSRS before Tuesday night prayer. The
rumors were that he would introduce us to the newest
squad member- a super secret rapist abuser that had
been under intense lock and key training. We all
wondered what new style of rape abuse this member
would bring to our elite unit. Whips and brooms?
Handcuffs? Western S& M tactics? Saddam was privy to S
& M. He found it mutually interesting from both sides.
From the whip handler to the receiver of the whip. The
redness of the victim’s buttocks, he once stated to
the group during pre-shift, was like the beauty of the
Iraqi sun setting on faces of virgins. One thousand
virgins. No more, no less.

As we sat for the introduction fat Habibi stared
at me with his lazy eyes and swollen head. I gave him
the look of “I will kick you ass like a goat you very,
very, very fat pig.” Later, after the meeting I will
get on his face and dare him to take a swing and I
will more than likely shove him down the stairs again.
That fat pig, how I hate him so. But please, my dear
friend, don’t get me wrong for I have nothing against
fat people for most are very lovable and tender
hearted. My grandfather was a fat person and the
strongest in his village. He would showcase his
strength at weddings by bending solid metal bars. Most
everyone was impressed. And that is why they killed
him. I would hate Habibi equally even if he was
skinny.

When the royal bodyguards walked into the room,
Saddam was introduced and we stood.

“Your Royal majesty. All stand.”

After our brief salute, we all sat facing a map
of Baghdad. Saddam wore a black Versace suit with a
burgundy tie. How did I know that it was Versace?
Because he said it was Versace. He smoked a Cuban
cigar and he nodded to everyone.

“Allah-AK-bar!”

“Allah-AK-bar,” we repeated.

The minister of defense stepped up. He was a bald
man with a big nose and a dark mustache. He looked
like Arab Magnum P.I. As of matter of fact, the
mustache is so popular in Iraq, that most males
resemble that ingenious Hawaiian detective.

“As you may be aware, we’ve had some trouble with
dissidents who don’t have sisters or wives and their
mothers have passed away. Therefore, in situations
like those, the Rapist Squad is useless because we
can’t have men raping men even though a couple of you
were inclined to volunteer.”

We looked at the gay ones. They put their heads
down.

“So we crunched various ideas and most were
executed until one proved itself far superior than the
others. And today, we are happy to present the proven
idea.”

He motioned to a royal guard and he walked over
to the door an opened it. Behind the door stood a
small man under a black cloak very similar to an
Italian monk. The man walked over and stood next to
Saddam. We could not see his face. We all wondered
what face was under the cloak.

“This, is Sasha.”

We looked at each other in confusion and then our
jaws dropped when the skinny man let his cloak drop
and there was a pretty girl underneath. She had long
black hair, in a pony tail. She reminded me of Arab
Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. Shock and awe was an
understatement. We were scared, and anxious, and
aroused, and in a big, very big, maze of confusion.
But of course, for we were the SSRS and we were
trained to be aroused at a moments’ notice.

She was like a diamond of a day. I pictured
sights I had never seen like desserts covered with
snow and possible things that were once impossible
like a Sparrow flying to President Hussein’s hand and
perhaps taking a bite or two. She had a pretty face
and her eyes were golden brown. My heart sank down to
my stomach, and it was digested, and then released
through my rectum. I knelt down and picked up my
shitted heart, and swallowed my heart, and I promise
you, my dear friends, I could have gone through the
same motions all day.

She held a long black baton behind her.

“That is her weapon,” the minister said. “With
which she will inflict pain.”

She rolled the baton with her right hand, next
to her. She had the features of a small lithe girl.
She was an angel! Then our president whispered into
the ear of the Minister of Defense. And the minister
looked at our entire group. “Any questions?”

Slappy Kareem raised his hand trembling and
quickly brought it down.

After the meeting, all the males stood in one
corner and she, in another. We gossiped, but in a
whisper. Our egos could not handle this. A woman that
rapes with a stick? What kind of thing was this? What
was our great leader Saddam, trying to tell us? We
scratched our heads in unison. Stumped monkeys we
were.

When everyone else moved on, I found an excuse
to remain. I decided to make an effort for there was
something in her eyes that attracted me. They were
very deep and emotional eyes. They predicted her mood

She had a silent mood, and I felt this calmness
emanate from her. Her presence was a very soothing
thing to me. It gave me life like shot of Cuban
espresso-which I have never had, but heard Saddam
takes every day for he has it flown from the island of
Cuba sent to him personally by most famous communist

Five minutes later, our daily mission sheets were
posted on the bulletin board. My heart skipped upon
reading that Sasha and I had been assigned to the same
neighborhood. So with brave face, I approached her.

“Hello,” I said.

“Yes,” she responded.

“I have noticed on Mission Sheet that we are assigned
to same neighborhood duty.”

“Really,” she said.

“Would you like ride in my vehicle with me?”

She did not say anything for 15 seconds. She looked
at me.

“Okay,” she said. “But are you safe driver?”

I smiled. “Of course, come, I will show you to my
vehicle.”

We went to the car, a 1987 Hyundai in mint condition.
Its color, was the color blue sky. I’m sure she was
impressed because in Iraq you either had Hyundai or
your feet. You could never hope to be like Saddam or
his sons with Mercedes Benz, driving to the markets
taking young women from their families never to be
seen again. And who wouldn’t want to have that kind of
power?

As I drove, she looked out the window most of the
ride. She seemed very serious staring at the faces
outside the vehicle. I tried to start conversation
with talking about myself and then I would barrage her
with questions like suave protagonist in Hollywood
film.

“I am from Palestine-occupied territory. I came to
Iraq to defend her against the evil
Bush(sr.)administration.”

She did not say anything back to me. Not to worry, I
thought, I continue to barrage her with endless
questions until conversation is created and ultimately
good rapport that lead to friendship, and perhaps date
to smoke hookah, some alcohol, love and marriage.

“And you are from,” I began.

“I am from Russia.”

“Where?”

“I am from Chechnya.”

“You are communist?”

“My family has always been Muslim.”

“How old are you?”

“27.”

“Do you like food?”

“Yes.”

“Do you eat Russian caviar.”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“You have pretty smile, do you have pretenders?”

“No.”

“How did you get into rape business?”

“I am fond of watching men get pleasure.”

“How man get pleasure, from your stick? It is brutal.
It is natural for man to rape woman, not so for woman
to rape man.”

“You are ignorant.”

“I am honest. But I apologize if I surmised too much.
Are you virginal?”

“You are truly a fool. What makes you say that?”

“You are like small girl, you have innocent face, I
doubt a man has entered you. A woman with experience,
she has experience in her face.”

“You are a clown and a fool.”

“You are angelic.”

“You are harry like monkey.”

“You are soft like rose.”

“You are not original.”

“I want to witness your rapes.“

“We are here.”

“Yes, we are,” I said, hitting the brakes.

“Thank you for the ride.”

“No problem. I love you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, I am sorry. We meet back here?”

“Hmm. Yes, yes, we meet here.”

We were in a poor neighborhood South of Baghdad. We
got out of Tercel, and went forth to our rapes. She
rushed off across the street like Sub Zero in Mortal
Kombat. I was happy that her mission was two houses
from mine. In case of any complications I could rush
to her aid.

My victim lived in a small two bedroom house with an
ugly gray door. My orders were to rape the oldest
daughter of an un-loyal Baath’ Captain. He would be
taught a valuable lesson by punishing next of kin.
According to my fact sheet, the victim was 43 years
old and weighed 275 Lbs. I much preferred the rape of
a much smaller and younger woman but in the end a rape
was a rape, and besides I had a job to do.

I was before the door and placed my Kaffiyeh over my
head like ninja to cover my face. I picked the lock
and entered the house. A kitchen was before me, and to
my right a living room. The bedroom was past the
kitchen at the end of a small hallway.

I continued down the hall to the bedroom and paused
for a moment before opening the door. And when I
opened the door, there before me, lay my victim asleep
and unsuspecting of my imminent threat. Unaware in her
sweet dreams that she would soon be forced into
beautiful intercourse, indeed the most beautiful
intercourse ever to be had in her soulless life, from
the best looking SRSS member in all of Baghdad.

I walked up to the bed and looked at her. She was a
very fat woman. She lay face up snoring like the roar
of a thousand lions. Her snoring was so loud and
intense that it seemed like she was choking. There
were great pauses between deep breaths. I thought I
would have to perform CPR, help her to get conscious,
and then rape her-and that would just be too much
work.

I unzipped my pants, and played with myself while
staring at her. I had to work my penis to ultimate
hardness for she was very big and repulsive. Standing
there, I began to ponder on the power of me and my
penis. Rape for me, was like the power of Saddam.

I proceeded to jump on her like bobcat or mountain
lion. She woke up startled as I quickly held onto
both her arms. I then stuffed a sock in her mouth. And
that is when I threatened her.

I said something like, “You be quiet now or you have
your last breadth. Is this what you want? Is this what
you want? You will let me do what I was sent here to
do. Yes you will, yes you will.”

She looked into my eyes with great fear. She mumbled.
“What?”

She tried to talk again. I took away the sock from
her mouth.

And I said, “What?” as she flipped me over and pinned
me down. I had underestimated her strength. She was
like bear as she began to bounce and bounce on me
almost breaking my penis. I was stuck in a dilemma,
for I had to keep moving my pelvis in order to catch
her vagina. Sometimes I’d miss and it hurt very bad.

“Slip, slip, slip...back inside,” she’d say when I
missed and then the bouncing would continue.

And then, as the backwards rape continued, she
stopped to smell me. “You have fine musk. Curious
musk. It is American musk! It is the Calvin Klein, the
infidel musk!”

At that precise moment, I willed all my strength and
rolled her over on her back. I pulled out my knife,
putting the blade against her neck, and began to
sodomize her and she loved this too. She moaned loud
when I entered her unsanitary hole. Her anus was very
loose, which made me curious. This is all very
dangerous work, for I had to concentrate so as not to
slice her neck accidentally.

I had explosion inside her and rolled off.

“Saddam knows your father is a traitor to Iraq. He
must do as he is told or he will be punished. Tell him
he will pay with his family’s suffering.”

She had big, bold, green eyes with a blank face of
sorrowful pleasure. And then, in a moment of
stupidity, as my guard dropped, she grabbed my own
knife and plunged it into my stomach.

“Ahhh! You evil woman!”

I sprung from the bed holding my stomach, bleeding
all over my uniform. This was my third stabbing this
year. Most squad members get stabbed at least once
their rookie year. Facing an emergency such as this, I
decided to flee with both hands clutching at my
stomach, running past the kitchen, and through the
front door only to collapse in the middle of the
street. I laid in the street until Sasha’s face came
into sight. She looked at me with her brown piercing
eyes which now had a look of pity in them. She did not
say anything but only grabbed my feet and dragged me
to the Volkswagen Fox. My seats were stained with my
own blood. She drove to a hospital close to the
presidential palace, double parked, placed me on a
Gurney, and shoved me towards the emergency room, and
as I rolled, rolled away from her, my heart slowed
like a jazz drum.

I recovered in a week and received 17 stitches. The
day I was released, Sasha was in my room and watched
me change back to my uniform. She looked at me like if
I was her dog, and just peed inside the house. And
deep in my heart, I prayed to Allah that I could be
her dog. Oh how I wished I was her dog!

“I should have left you there to die.”

“But you didn’t,” I said, smiling.

“You are a disappointment to the party.”

“...,” still smiling.

“And Iraq, your adopted land.”

“I love you.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“But-“

”You are a clown to me.”

“And you are a princess to me.”

“You are a fool for loving me.”

“Then I am happy to be a fool.”

“You realize we could be beheaded, at least.”

“I don’t care. I would risk everything. My heart,
this heart, is yours. My arms, these arms, are yours.”

“You have lost your mind.”

“I want to buy you a ring like in the Hollywood
movies.”

“I am already bored of you.”

I then took a step towards her and she remained.

We left the hospital and returned to base where I was
greeted with laughter from by colleagues. Amidst all
this, I fantasized that I spit in all their mouths. I
made sure to let them get it out of their system. This
all lasted quite a while. Fat Habibi led the chorus of
laughter. Oh, Allah, how I hate his chubby, cheeky
face.

Sasha entered after me, so as not to arouse any
suspicion. It hurt very deep inside of me that I
couldn’t make big announcement to the world that I
cared about this woman more than any cleric, oil
field, or very fast and efficient race camel.

When the next missions came, my desire to rape had
left me. I think it was because I was in love. My
first mission post-stabbing resulted in a broom
beating by a very endearing elderly lady who offered
me coffee afterwards. A week after that, on another
rape mission, I just tied a woman naked to her bed and
fell asleep on her stomach talking to her about the
glint of light in Sasha’s eyes. Oh those beautiful
eyes so full of paradise inside of them. My eyes were
caught in hers during every pre-mission shift meeting.
She tried to ignore me, but it was evident she felt
the same way.

Incidently, one day I just couldn’t wait for things
to just occur between us so I decided to spy on her
during one of her missions. I finished a quick dry
hump rape on an 83 year old woman, who I will also
reveal stuck her tongue inside my mouth and I was off.

I crossed the street like a stealth tiger and found
the house where Sasha was assigned for her rape. It
was a medium sized blue house which I entered through
the unlocked front door. I went up the stairs
following the moaning and screaming I heard. It
startled me, but I continued.

I took a deep breadth and stood before the bedroom
door. The sounds coming from the room where like those
of a torture room. I opened the door to see Sasha
holding a very large, fake, black penis against the
victim, who was on his stomach with a bloody anus. She
turned to me, and my heart sped up like Arabian horse
trotting through Saharan desert, and before I knew it,
I had fainted and could not remember more.

The next day, upon the recovery of my shock at the
things I had seen I confronted Sasha in secret to
challenge her to a rape off challenge. I would not be
embarrassed by a woman, even if I could love her. The
winner, got the loser to do anything they wanted.

She stood by the water cooler in the empty mess hall.
I approached her with confidence and guile, despite
the fact I fainted at the sight of blood.

“I was very much impressed by your rape abilities,
and despite my love for you, I come to ask you to a
rape off challenge.”

“A what?”

“A rape off competition to see who is the best? It is
when two rape squad members face off, seeing who can
do most rapes per month.”

She just stood there looking at me.

“You are funny man.”

I kept my stare. I know I’ve talked many times about
her eyes, but I wouldn’t bring up those features if
there wasn’t substance behind them. How to describe
eyes that are so soft and endearing that they can put
and end to a thousand men. There are no words I tell
you!

She quickly kissed me in my lips and pulled out. It
felt like bolt of electricity running through my body.
She then moved her face closer to mine.

“Meet me in my private room fifteen minutes past
midnight, when all are asleep. If you are as good as
you claim, you can show me then.”

Exactly ten past midnight, I tiptoed from the men’s
dorm rooms to the mess hall, which I had to cross to
get to Sasha’s. If you are wondering how I was able to
not wake everybody, well I received some help from fat
Habibi’s snoring, which most of the squad was used to
now, and that’s how most of them slept through the
bombing of missile installations by Iran in the 80s.
And another reason for my mastery of clandestine
skills was the American Ninja movies starring Michael
Dudikoff.

Upon reaching her door in my bare feet and pajamas, I
tapped it lightly and leaned my head against it trying
to listen. The door opened and Sasha stood before me
in her ninja/burka hybrid not wearing any pants. The
hair covering her vagina was thick. I immediately
became excited.

“Take off your pants,” she said.

“My pants?”

“I said take off your pants and kneel on the floor.”

She closed the door behind me as I did what I was
told and knelt on the floor.

“I want your pants off all the way. Including
underwear. Leave your shirt on.”

I was on my knees in the cold floor without my pajama
bottoms.

“Get on all fours like dog. Like Arab mutt that you
are.”

She then poured a very warm lotion on my buttocks,
spreading it all over my buttocks, specially inside of
my anus. My heart started beating fast, for I was
scared and excited. And I kept telling myself, that
this could only occur because it was her and what she
meant for me. No other person in this world could do
that very thing that I was about to experience.

The lotion made my anus moist and warm and the smell
was quite enjoyable like that of soft babies. She then
slipped one finger in my anus, and I whimpered like
pig.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, no, my Russian angel. It does not hurt!”

She picked me up and threw me to her bed and
handcuffed me to the legs on my stomach. I was spread
out dripping with oil. After turning off the lights, I
heard a vibrating noise and noticed a green glow. She
then inserted this noisy object inside of me, and
everything after that I will not relate because it was
beautiful, and private, and a whirl of sexual madness
that awoke in me a sensitivity for women and the world
as a whole.

The following day I was a new man. I was a man in
love with a woman. Oh’ to be a man that knows love is
to be a man that does not need God. For a man with no
boundaries, will not let anything stop him. Or a child
taking baby steps on his own. How I am a philosopher
now? Or is true love-love for your fellow man? So why
do we need God, if we have love?

From that special night on, me and Sasha could not be
separated. Our illicit affair, continued in dark
corners and hidden alleys. We would meet three times a
week in different safe houses, sometimes even skipping
missions all together. Suspicions arose among
commanders and we had to stop seeing each other some
weeks.

And on one special occasion that we laid in bed, I
with bloody anus, she with a bruised and scratched
back, we both spoke with our eyes to each other. Our
mouths did not open, and we saw in each other’s
expressions that we were doomed. The television played
the film Bodyguard with Whitney Houston and Sasha was
so inspired that as she rolled on me she whispered, “I
will always love you.”

I knew then that the Palestinian boy inside me would
never love another again.

The next day, on account of my low rape grading, I
was asked into the private office of the Grand Baath’
Rapist Secretary under Saddam. Entering quickly, I
saluted and took a chair as I was told.

“You have failing grade. Your mission productivity
has dropped dramatically. Explain yourself.”

“I do not know how to explain myself. I have been-“

”I don’t want excuses! You were drafted on Syrian
countryside of the border after being detained for the
rapes of the four retarded daughters of Ibrahim
Nelson, owner of local farm. We could have sent you to
the firing squad my friend. And who intervened? Answer
me, that!”

“You did, sir.”

“Yes! I intervened. You were given second chance to
use your rape obsessions for the power of good &
country. Can’t you understand you fool? You have been
given a place in this society! Therefore, I strongly
advice you to not test the patience of your
benefactors that can so withdraw their good charity
from you. Do you wish to die?”

“No, sir.”

“Your rape productivity will go up. You will go in
and out and finish the job. And if I hear anything to
the contrary, your file will be sent to the
president’s desk for swift punishment. Do you
comprehend Hassan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get out now.”

I left the office and went to search for Sasha to
assure her that our superiors had no clue about our
illicit affair. I searched the mess hall, I looked in
her room and finally ran into her in the locker rooms
which were empty due to Rape Drill Week. And as I
looked into her eyes, I had a feeling that I had been
cured of my obsession with rape because of Sasha. The
only thing that mattered to me was Sasha and her
desires, for I would grant each and everyone. Oh
Sasha, Sasha, Sasha! Her name on my tongue, was like
Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia (which Saddam imported
every year for his month long birthday celebration)
melting in my mouth.

“Oh’ Hassan,” she said, with her sweet breadth. “What
did they say? What did you tell them? Hassan, I am
worried, there are rumors.”

“What rumors my Russian tulip?”

“There are rumors about us, my love. I think they
know of our affair.”

She leaned in closer to me. “I think fat Habibi
knows.”

I grabbed her close to me. “They don’t know anything.
What makes you say that?”

“He came to me during brunch and asked me for a date.
When I refused him, he asked me if you and I were
lovers.”

“What did you say?”

“I spat in his face.”

“Oh’ Sasha! How I love you.”

“Let’s runaway Hassan!”

“Yes, my love.”

Suddenly there was a loud bang against a locker, then
we heard footsteps shuffling out. She held onto me
quickly, and kissed me.

“Just in case, this will be our last kiss.”

“Don’t say that. Just go get your mission schedule. I
leave one way, and you another. We meet up later.”

And before leaving she paused and looked at me with
sad, enchanting Russian eyes. “Oh my love, will we
fall apart like star crossed lovers do?”

I did not say anything because I did not want to lie,
for I knew the very answer. I rushed off to the
mission room for pre-shift. I did not take the normal
way there, so as to lose my scent from the dogs that
had been sent after us. Prolonging my way there, and
thereby our very end. I dreamt that perhaps we were
still safe, and we could escape. I would not arrive
late, but not early either. The missions would be
posted, I would pretend to ignore Sasha, and we’re off
without attracting suspicion. Then we rape, to make
things look normal, we meet, and we elope to the West.
To Hawaii, where a man can live right by the beach and
drive a red Ferrari.

Once I made it to the door, I just opened it with all
thoughts absent from my mind. And upon entering, I was
handcuffed by Fat Habibi. Sasha was also being
detained. Everyone stood before us, surrounding us.

“Here is the other infidel, my commander,” Fat Habibi
said.

Our commander walked up to me. “You have disgraced
us, and the Department of Rape and Retributions with
your unlawful and unnatural affair.”

“It is my fault,” I pleaded. “Please let her go. I
was the one that forced her. She had nothing to do,
she is innocent. Let her go.”

Sasha’s hair was in a very pretty mess. She had put
up a fight. She looked at me and mouthed out the words “I love you.”

“Enough of this. You will both pay with your very
lives. To the firing squad!”

They led us out to the firing range, that was located
in the back of the building. The tied us to two
separate posts, as the hot Iraqi sun beat down on our
heads. We looked at each other, from our own poles,
and I saw the tears in her eyes and I became strong
for her.

“No blindfolds,” yelled the commander.

The assassins aligned themselves before us. The
Rapist Squad behind them. My close friends in the
squad were upset, but they could not protest, for they
would be killed also.

Meanwhile, Sasha and I continued to search for that
glimmer in each other’s eyes that would validate this
very sacrifice.

A guard came up to us.

“Any last requests?”

Sasha looked at me. I looked at the guard and
whispered in his ear. He went to the commanders and
told them my request. They called for a messenger boy.
The boy was given orders and he rushed off. It took
thirty minutes for the messenger boy to come back with
a boom box and a CD. One of the guards grabbed the
boom box and placed it next to Sasha. He took out the
CD from its case and inserted It in the boom box and
pressed play. He turned up the volume as the song
started playing. The song was, “I will Always Love
You” as performed by the beautiful and talented Mrs.
Whitney Houston for the film, The Bodyguard. An epic
film about the importance of bodyguards! Saddam knew
this too well.

As the song played, it almost seemed to slow down
time. All my memories of Sasha flashed before my mind,
and I was so engulfed by them that my eyes became wet
with tears. But I soon realized that they were tears
of joy for I had finally known what true love was.
Love was sacrifice for your fellow man or woman. Is
that not beautiful?

And when the song was coming closer to the end, for
so were our own lives, the assassins assumed their
positions once again, and aimed for our very hearts. I
did not close my eyes. Yes, my friends, I did not
close my eyes. And the only other thoughts that
crossed my mind other than my love for Sasha and my
poor mother, was this: for all those that hijacked my
adopted land, may Allah have mercy on you and each of
your souls, you hypocrites may you survive the end of
Saddam as he is swallowed by the west, for when you
play with the devil, you will surely have to pay him
his dues, for your destiny is written in the blood
stained soil and your fate will be far worse than
being shot outside a Starbucks franchise in Tikrit,
you sons of the forgotten may you perish for all
eternity. And the assassins fired.

Fawzy Zablah is an editor for 3AM Magazine. He is the
author of the short story book Ciao! Miami.

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