“…abandon all hope, you who enter here.”
Dante’s Inferno
Jeff walked across the asphalt parking lot, trying to avoid the rough, alligatoring pavement in grave need of repair, a victim of the failing economy and a tough winter.
He walked across the damp, concrete sidewalk, toward the Starbucks entrance. Swatting mosquitoes as he went, his only intention was to grab a latté, read the paper and get on with the day’s activities as soon as possible. Noting a brief flash of red, he looked left and saw the beauty in the Versace dress, or rather what was inside the red dress. I love red, he thought, and ran straight into the Starbucks doorframe.
Embarrassed more than hurt and surprised at the noise it made when one walks into a doorframe, Jeff acted as though nothing happened and hoped that no one heard the loud collision. The man and the girl-with-a-ponytail by the front window looked at him with concern but said nothing.
Jeff was a regular visitor to the Dunwoody Perimeter Starbucks, and Latté Lady saw Jeff crossing the Publix grocery store parking lot and had his Grandé Latté with one raw sugar, waiting by the time Jeff reached the register.
“Thanks Jenifer. Or Miss Attentive, I should say. You are an amazing woman with that latté machine. Wanna get married? I have a ring in my safe that has your name on the inside of that platinum band.”
“You are such a flirt!” She liked it. “What size is that ring? I have very small fingers that are strong enough to support huge diamonds.”
Grabbing his latté and a newspaper, Jeff winked at Jenifer and took a seat by the window with a gorgeous view of the Publix parking lot and the heavy Atlanta traffic. Maybe he would see the girl in the red dress, he thought to himself, and hoped she hadn’t seen him run into the doorframe. He felt a small knot rising from his forehead.
Taking his seat beside the concerned-looking couple, Jeff opened the Atlanta Journal and Constitution to begin his fill of the daily tragedies occurring around the world. Another earthquake, this one off the coast of Charleston, small but unusual. It sure seemed to Jeff that there was a whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on around the world. A glance out the window gave no glimmer of Ms.Versace.
“Nostradamus wrote that the world would end as we know it, in 2012. The Hopi Indians, who lived in the southeast United States, or what is now the United States, predicted a great worldwide, cataclysmic disaster at the end of time, also in 2012; and December 21, 2012, is the end of the Mayan Calendar. The Mayans were no dummies and were the most advanced society of the time when it came to studying the stars.”
Jeff didn’t mean to listen in on the conversation at the next table but couldn’t help himself after what he had seen a few months earlier in the night sky.
“Yeah, I’ve seen the documentaries on Discovery Channel. Do you believe all that stuff?” the young lady with the blonde ponytail asked the man, kind of a look of wonderment on her face that the professor-looking gentleman might actually believe the 2012 predictions. Though a little portly, Jeff thought the man looked distinguished, maybe even a rabbi though no yarmulke graced the back of his balding, gray head.
“Well, don’t bet the farm on it or start selling land. The End has been predicted many times throughout history, forecast on a regular basis since the first century A.D., shortly after Jesus was executed. The ancient Jewish prophets started predicting an end and a Judgment Day at least fifteen hundred years earlier.”
The professor-rabbi sipped what looked like a frozen mocha, thinking about the meaning of A.D. and why it was no longer used in textbooks, or any books for that matter. He knew why though. A.D. stood for anno domini and meant “the year of our Lord,” and B.C. meant “before Christ.” Nope, he thought, not much chance we will see that used again in this politically corrected world of shame-and-no-blame. The day was hot and sweat dropped on the man’s blue and white striped seersucker shirt, crinkly and wrinkly by design.
Jeff watched the chameleon in search of mosquitoes, laying- in-wait on the outside windowsill for a flying delight. It would not be a weight-watchers day for the chameleon, as the air was filled with newly hatched mosquitoes, thriving in mass production since the record rains and heat.
“Jesus talked about the End Times or Last Days, as did numerous other Biblical characters. His followers questioned him about this, wondering if the end would come in their day. Jesus told them he didn’t know but that it would happen. There would be ‘signs.’”
“I didn’t know that! Are you sure?” The young, freckly woman seemed surprised that Jesus would not have known, having been taught that Jesus knew all things by her Aunt Sammie, who had raised her.
“Go back and read your Bible, or Google it; and you will see what I say, it’s true.”
“No, no. I’m not doubting you Dr. Rosenberg. I just thought that Jesus was God and knew everything, at least that’s what I’ve always been taught at my church.” Blonde Ponytail looked genuinely concerned that she had offended Dr. Rosenberg. “What did he tell his followers when they asked about the end?” The man couldn’t be a rabbi, Jeff thought to himself, having been to a few bar mitzvahs in his time and raised as a child in a South Carolina “Jewish” neighborhood. Rabbis don’t talk much about Jesus; but there sure seemed to be a lot of talk lately about the end of the world, and God is a Woman signs were everywhere.
“Jesus told them he didn’t know exactly when the date was, that only God knew. He did give them some signs to look for in the future, signs that would let us know that the end is near, signs that let the early Christians, who were all Jews of course, know that it would not come in their time, though they hoped for it.”
Jeff noticed the brown UPS cargo van. This was at least the fourth time it passed through the Publix parking lot, not that it was a big deal, only UPS drivers usually knew where they were going in the first circle or two. And something about the van didn’t look quite right. Trained as a Navy SEAL but discharged after an auto accident, Jeff was especially attentive to oddities.
“What kind of signs did Jesus give th…”
The explosion, loud and deafening, was preceded by an intense flash of bright, white light. As deafening as it was, the blast only broke the front windows of Starbucks. The tempered safety-glass shattered into what looked like a horizontal rain of crystalline stardust, blowing across Latté Lady and into the back wall, past the latté machine.
The drive-up window withstood the blast, but Miss Attentive,
a.k.a. Latté Lady, a.k.a. Jenifer, visited the back wall with a vengeance, along with the glass shards. She lost her sight that day, as well as her olive skin that was now bright red with newly oxygenated blood.
Mr. Chameleon caught his last mosquito just seconds before the blast and joined Latté Lady against the back wall in a waltz of crimson with a slight tint of green, provided by the ex-lizard.
Jeff, Blonde Ponytail and Professor-Rabbi had suddenly become intimate in their encounter, as they all lay in a pile of debris, one on top of the other.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Jeff told the young girl who recently was talking about the end of the world and now probably thought it had happened. She lay squarely on top of Jeff, who was lying across the legs of the good doctor Rosenberg.
Missing the humor, the shell-shocked, ponytailed girl slowly began to get onto all fours but collapsed almost immediately. Dr. Rosenberg was unhurt, other than being in shock.
Jeff helped the doctor and the ponytailed girl to their feet, urging them to get out of the building before it collapsed, dust and debris still falling.
Running through what had been the front door.. Jeff would not run into the frame this time since it was no longer there.. the three joined others in the middle of Ashford-Dunwoody Road, a road that had earlier in the day been traveled by visitors in horse-drawn carriages. The road was now a cloud of dust and debris.
“It’s started,” Dr. Rosenberg said with confident finality.
Jeff wondered what the doctor was talking about. He didn’t buy the end-of-the-world hysteria, nor did he believe in God; but he did believe that Islamic terrorists were intent on taking over the world, or at least the West, if not the world.
“What’s started?” asked Blonde Ponytail, a small droplet of red beginning to ooze from her chin where the glass shard had earlier penetrated. “What are you talking about?”
Before the good doctor could answer, the air vibrated and dust again stirred as the second explosion of the morning sprung to life with violence and vigor just a few blocks away, assaulting once again the inner ears of all those standing among the splintered Yoshino cherry trees that had once lined Ashford Dunwoody Road.
Nine thousand miles east of Atlanta, in the hills of Pakistan along the Afghanistan border, Muslims throughout the valley waited for the Great News. The valley was sparsely inhabited, but all the men were well-versed in Islamic radicalism and its philosophy of hate.
“Turn on the TV! Turn on the TV, Muhammed! Please!”
Mehdi ran into the well-hidden quarters of Muhammed and his sister’s home, built into the side of a mountain like many others and well-protected by the village elders. Like most homes in the Korengal Valley of Pakistan, just north of Peshawar, there were few, if any, luxuries, no iPods or flat-screen TVs; but there were satellite dishes everywhere, donning each shelter with a small, white saucer-shaped dome that glowed in the silver reflection of full moon light, a moon that was referred to as a Harvest Moon in the decadent United States, the home and the heart of Satan himself. The moon should not grace the Great Satan, at least in Mehdi’s mind, as it was a holy symbol in the religion of Islam.
“I don’t need to turn on the television.” Muhammed spoke, patiently, fatherly, to Mehdi. Mehdi was excitable, he knew. The smell of goats mingled and mixed with the bittersweet chocolate odor of the poppy fields nearby, the main source of finance for the militants, though they did not consider themselves militants at all. They were Allah’s army, Jihad’s Warriors.
With all the medicinal purposes of the noble and beautiful poppy plant, stoic pinkness on a three-foot stalk, these flowers would not be used for any noble purposes. As soon as the flowers turned to grayish pods, the latex-like outer skin would be cut with small incisions. The milky substance that oozed forth would dry quickly, transforming into opium, and then heroin, and then to the streets of London, Paris and New York City.
“No! No! It’s started, hurry. Turn on CNN so we can watch! We can watch Allah’s work!” Mehdi was at least as jubilant as excited, cackling like a wild hen getting ready to lose its head.
Muhammed’s two guests nodded in agreement with Mehdi, knowing that this was the day that would be the beginning-of- the-end for the great Satan and his puppets in Europe.
Spotting the worn and dented TV remote, a luxury they did have, Mehdi hit the ON button and waited. Finally, the twenty- seven inch tube-type television came to life.
“On a weather note, in the town of Nag’s Head, North Carolina, a hailstorm with grapefruit-sized hailstones, yep that’s what it says, has destroyed two piers and several homes and busine…..excuse me, we have Breaking News. Can this be right?”
The news anchor, always calm and meticulous in dress and appearance, looked disheveled, more than dismayed, maybe not believing his own eyes as he read the report coming across the prompter from Reuters and the Associated Press.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as much as we like to break a news story, I have been advised that we will take a commercial break while this unfolding event is verified. Please stand by, and we will be back in sixty seconds.”
As the screen turned to a commercial about the all-new Toyota Prius, guaranteed to stop when the brake is pushed, Mehdi could hardly hold himself together. Already high-strung, his constant chatter really got on Muhammed’s nerves; and today Mehdi was in rare form.
“Yes Muhammed, they surely do have some breaking news.” They all laughed boisterously, except for Muhammed’s sister who wondered why her brother and his friends only wanted to fight all the time. They were all obsessed with killing, if not Westerners then their very own brothers, just like it said they would in the first book of the Bible. Muslims are like that, she thought, at least the men. She knew by now that Islam really wasn’t a “peaceful religion,” with hatred spewed regularly from the clerics. The men really couldn’t help it. They were brainwashed since birth to hate the Jews and Christians, and anyone else they mistrusted, which was almost everyone, including their own brothers.
Waiting anxiously, Muhammed, Medhi and the two soon-to- be-martyred visitors stood by patiently. The commercial faded to black, and the commentator reappeared above the large Breaking News logo that took up the bottom third of the television screen. He looked sick, Mehdi thought, a smile coming to his olive but acne-pitted face as he waited for news of the bombs. He wondered if the breaking news would be about the bombs in Europe or the ones in the U.S. It didn’t really matter.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the anchor began, “We have a disturbing report, though we are still waiting on complete verification. This is what we know so far...”
Medhi was salivating like a Great Dane eagerly awaiting his tasty Beggin Treat. Medhi, however, was not salivating over fake bacon but the smell of the blood that would soon be flowing in the streets of the West.
“According to the Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland, there appears to be a large asteroid that is headed toward earth. It is not yet known if this asteroid, newly discovered in the last 24 hours, will hit the Earth or if it will be a close encount…”
“What the hell?” Medhi interrupted the commentator. “What is this garbage?
“Turn on FOX News, what channel?” Mehdi was clearly flustered, as were the others, knowing that at least 48 bombings should have taken place in the U.S. by now, at least 48, one for each contiguous state, maybe more.
“I hate FOX.” Muhammed had not liked FOX News since the 9/11 coverage made Islam look evil. He could not forget the 9/11 coverage FOX gave the Palestinians in Gaza and the commentary that followed. As the militants fired rifles into the air in celebration of the Great Collapse of the New York City skyline, FOX had been the only major network to cover the celebration in detail; and the coverage was not positive toward Islam.
Mehdi keyed the remote and picked up FOX in mid-sentence. “.. on Peachtree Street. The first bomb, apparently inside what appears to be a UPS panel truck, blew up in front of the Georgia Pacific Headquarters building, shortly after the driver entered the side entrance. There is another report just coming in of explosions in the Dunwoody area, a North Atlanta suburb, and also at the Mall of Georgia.”
The four members of Jihad’s Warriors gave FOX a standing ovation that day, with Muhammed proclaiming his newfound admiration for FOX and its fair-and-balanced coverage. The foxy news lady continued.
“The second explosion occurred a few blocks from the first, targeting a children’s hospital. My God, who would target a children’s hospital? There have been no confirmed deaths at this time, but the toll is expected to be high. There are also reports coming in from Rome, Paris and London.”
Greta paused and stated they would be right back after the commercial break. Mehdi turned the TV off.
Had Muhammed, Medhi and the two soon-to-be-martyrs not been so impatient and had left the TV on CNN, they would have seen Wolfe’s studio shake as though an earthquake had stolen into the studio to have a little Waltz with Wolfe. They would have seen Wolfe rushing to the window to watch the fireball rising from the distant streets. CNN would be at the scene in seconds.