Finally
He felt a feeling of happiness undertake him.
Sitting in the Oval Office in an extra, grey fold-out chair, Alfred couldn't help but smile as he heard his commander's voice, Barak Obama's, telling his people what they had wanted to hear the most since that fateful day: 9/11. It used to make the twin, knife wound, scars over his heart throb every time the numbers were whispered.
Alfred looked a little ragged this evening. Nantucket was wilted slightly, and his eyes, stolen patches of the sky, looked as if he hadn't had a good night's rest in days… but his people were happy. That was all that mattered. He let out a small smile, holding his hand to dark cloth over the silver spots. From then on, he knew the scars were beginning to heal at last. The people who had died in those monolithic tombs had received their justice; their families had been given their peace. Tonight he would sleep unaided after ten years. He stood up adjusting his suit as he felt the tears of relieve from various types of people bleed from his very soul. Osama bin Laden's was only the first step of many… but it was a start. Alfred finally felt like he had come a bit closer to his enemy known as Al Qaeda.
His mind flashed to the night in the Whitehouse's gardens, during a conference with the other nations. A man with black hair and dark eyes had leaned against the balcony swirling a smooth glass of champagne in his tan hands. The two had chatted amicably for a time. It was only when American had collapsed, clutching his chest as blood seeped through his fingers, that he realized something was wrong. England and Russia had helped him to the nearest room. Red puddles marking a path that the dead might find their lost home.(1) A burst of rage had enflamed his whole being, burning out the pain and sending him on a futile chase for a man who'd already disappeared.
It was then that Alfred Jones, the United States of America had vowed for his death. He would not stop until Al Qaeda's corpse lay before him.
Today he'd finally landed a hard blow. If it was fatal or not he couldn't tell, fighting terrorism was like dueling with a ghost, only certain strategies would work; but it was a hit. America knew it was stupid to hope that would be the end of it, his people wanted it to be over. Yet there was still a long, hard, hellish road ahead.
As he left the white house, starting up his massive dodge truck, he eagerly looked forward to his bed at home, surrounded by the marks of his media. Tonight he'd sleep a peaceful dream; the next, he'd lay with one eye open:
Always looking, always preying on those who opposed the rights of man.
I wanted to make a little reference to Hansel and Gretel here for some reason. Kudos to you if you got it.
Authors note: To the people of the world I can't tell you how happy the people in America are. I understand many other nations are rejoicing as well. I thank the many countries who came to the aid of the victims of the Twin Towers those many years ago. To me it's another sign that world peace is almost in the hands of humanity (Of course, by this I mean in the next couple centuries). Personally, I'm a little sad. Yes, Osama was undeniably evil but a pitiable man like him shouldn't have existed in the first place. I wonder what it was that made him hate his targets so much he'd kill them. Maybe he was just mad, but it's something to think about. Again thank you to everyone who helped the victims, have a good night/evening/day.