You sit in paralysis of the outside world. Knowing everything on the other side of your door is hungry to kill.
Peering out of your living room window, what you hope to see are people.
Hungry eyes, starved breath, and empty stomaches is the only thing that stares back at you.
Packs of crazed hungry dogs peer around what little bushes are left, the bombed video store, and gutted car across the street whos' tires have been robbed of it by thugs long ago.
The only thing is, these savages aren't hungry for a steak and their war paint isn't animal blood.
Their mouths drip with a red sticky plasma carrying ethrocytes; some components of the chemical makeup that classifies human blood.
200 people a month lie ripped to pieces on your streets.
And the only thing willing to clean up the mess are the dogs.
Thousands of them roam the streets feeding on human flesh.
Naturally the animals have an acquired taste.
Children get attacked on their way to school.
Your mother on the way to the market.
Your groom on the way home from work.
Your wife on her trip to the post office.
No longer must you fear your neighbor, or militant worshiper.
Fear Fido. Beloved Bingo. Sweet Spot.
He too is seeing red.
It still doesn't matter weather you're man, woman, or child.
"Kill em all" they thought. "And let God sort 'em out."
-------
The siphilidity of American greed echoes its deafening yelp from the harbors of Tokyo to the cliffs of Dover.
Somewhere in between; The seven headed demon from the book of revelations rises from the Persian Gulf to descend its plague upon the villagers.
The city stuck between Iran and Syria is not hell on Earth, but hell itself. And hasn't had the luxury of recognizing the agonizing peace of limbo for thousands of years.
You live in fear.
You live in Baghdad.
You live in the center of Hell.
"Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it? That's what it is to be a slave."
