Delivery
Extracted from Scrivener backup: Delivery
Draft
Third Draft - Prose and New Motifs
The Hardest Part Of Driving A Truck\
The hardest part of driving a truck is remembering to brake early. All the roads bend quick and all the cars brake fast in Jerusalem. If I drive this truck like a car, I will crash. I need to crash carefully.
There are fabric reams in the trailer to be returned to the wholesaler. The leadership has told me to drive the truck through Ben Yehuda Street. The wholesaler is not located near Ben Yehuda Street.
I have the windows down. Wind blows enough to kick up dust, but is too hot to provide relief. The roads are too narrow and congested for the truck to gain the necessary speed. Instead, I steadily drink warm water to replace the sweat. Dust funnels up and through the windows to speckle my bare cheeks. It is small mimicry of the old storms when there were no trucks and buildings to block the sailing sands in Jerusalem
The roads have always bent quick, even when they were still dirt, and Jerusalem was still Al-Aqsa. My Aunt told me of those days from her creased and faded school texts. She was a talker and I am still a listener. My wife is a listener too. We seldom talk. Since we tried for a baby we talk even less.
Growing up in a masjid, the muezzin’s call was akin a mother’s call home for supper. The brothers had hugged me and treated me as one of the tribe. I had naively thought there was one tribe back then as the Quran willed, but now knew there were many. The other tribes have their own nations to hide from the infidels. They do not choose to help us often.
There were infidels even back in the dirt road days. There were always infidels. The word of Allah was delivered to the prophet in a sea of men, all then instantly infidels until converted. Some infidels had met the sword back then, as they meet bullets and bombs today.
And now trucks.
The man who owns
this
truck and it’s enterprise is an infidel. There is no brotherhood for him, only shekels. In the time of the Caliphs, infidels had been allowed to lend money when our people were too proud to bend so low. Now we all do it just the same.
I check my speed gauge and slow down. Nathan Strauss Street narrows from two to one lane here. There is no room to pass and I must muscle a car to fall in behind me. It’s Hebrew driver honks and curses me. They do not like big trucks driving in the city. I wonder if later this angry man will be among the rest shopping on Ben Yehuda Street. Will he ever concede that big trucks are what stock the shelves in the stores? Will he ever concede that Palestinians drive the trucks? Will he ever concede that rape and bulldozers preceded the stores?
I had walked on Ben Yehuda Street last week, in advance of this. No cars were allowed anywhere on the street, so the Hebrews with too much money to spend could walk as they pleased.The roads bend quick and the drivers don’t listen in Jerusalem so they had installed new pillars on Ben Yehuda Street. I saw them for the first time last week. Allah blesses and protects those he loves.
Natan Strauss Street turns into King George Street. All the old dirt roads are now paved and named after invaders and infidels. The shop signs are in Hebrew and I had learned it in school. The leadership does not speak Hebrew. That meant I was the one who would drive the truck. The instructor had reminded me to brake early. Braking too late is a common beginner’s mistake.
We must take back our country from those who have expelled us. The surah is clear to kill them wherever they overtake you and to expel them from wherever they have expelled you. The mandate is clear.
I have also read the Christian Bible and the Hebrew bible. I have traced the lineage of prophets back through time from Muhammad to Isa to Yahya to David to Moses to Abraham to Noah and Adam. I have read Allah’s commands in the words closest written to their speakings. The mandate stands from before, in the fifth book of the Hebrews. The God of Moses, the same Allah, states that all the enemies greater than Moses must be destroyed totally and no quarter given.
But our revelations supersede theirs. That was declared as definite by the leadership and there would be no tolerance of further questioning. I made the point of knowing our enemy to destroy our enemy but there would be no further questioning.
They are building a new gas station so I am signalled to switch into the oncoming lane by a construction worker holding a flag. The oncoming traffic is being forced to yield so that I may cross. I see more Hebrew drivers cursing my existence in their path.
Other soldiers tasks made ending their lives a necessity whereas such sacrifce was not required to complete this mission. I would surely be found out for commiting the deed afterwards and have no life comparable to the one I have now. Then, maybe, I would make a more final act of jihad afterwards. I could not will myself to picture that second act of jihad. I must focus on the tricky mission I have no. That is what I think is diligent.
The leadership had ignited a righteous fire in these recent years and it had consumed the rest of us too. Something has to change, and by the sword. The leadership is to be obeyed and respected. They will lead us to emancipation. We continue to suffer from a national humiliation. Non of our so-called cousins in other tribes will help us. We must cut throats on our own.
I had a traveller’s prayer printed on a CD-rom hanging from my rearview. I am permitted to shorten our prayer if I am travelling. I have been speeding through it faster than ever before. The leadership told me to start praying out loud when I got this close.
\
To Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful. Mercy I beg you, for what I am compelled to do. For faith. For nation. For tribe.
\
Guide me to the Straight Way.
I could not will myself to picture the first act of jihad.
Ben Yehuda Street bends quick back northwards off King George Street. I turn the truck in line. Then I turn the truck further into the oncoming lane. I imagine the Hebrew drivers are too surprised to curse me. Their windshields whir by too fast for me to gauge. I am turning the truck through the oncoming lane to aim it straight through the pedestrians on Ben Yehuda Street.
People are waiting for the lights to let them cross. They are behind the new pillars.
I brake, but I should have braked earlier. The front tired goes over the curb and between two pillars. Pedestrians scream and scatter. My braking foot reaches the floor. My body lifts to hit my head against the windshield. An equal force pushes me back firmly into my seat. I collect myself while pedestrians scatter farther away.
I hop out and check the front of the truck. A headlight has turned to powder and the body has crumpled inwards.
Two tourist police run over and see my skin tone. They draw their guns and I hold my hands up. Things are tense. I tell them I had should have braked earlier. I overshot and then turned the truck out of the path of traffic.
They run my ID card through their computer. I know am I in there for stealing cigarettes at 16 and overpaying tax three years ago. There could be other actions deemed offences in there.
They believe me. All the roads bend quick and the guard pillars are newly installed.
The police believe it was an accident and the leadership will believe my intent.
The truck’s engine still starts and it is blocking traffic. I get off my phone to tell the police there is an open garage 10 minutes away. I am allowed to drive off.
The leadership will make me try again soon.
Research
Rough
Paradise\
\
Find out how suicide bombers think before they do it.\
\
He was nervous about if he knew how to drive a truck properly.\
\
The Jews were on BLANK street.\
\
To defeat your enemy you must know your enemy.\
\
The pedal felt heavy as i pressed it into the floor.\
\
the bomber searches for a truck to steal, or rents one from a store, or drives on for work. the last option makes sense,\
\
study: They discovered a pattern of being unable to handle stressful situations, an inability to see the bigger picture and a tendency to be intimidated by people in positions of authority.\
\
“The depth or intensity of religious belief was not something which distinguished them from other non-suicide terrorists.”\
‘Afraid’\
Instead, Professor Merari found that “national humiliation” ranked higher as a reason for an attack.\
\
“It is not a matter of personal suffering; they tried to avenge their communities suffering. They mentioned events that they saw on television, not events that happened to them personally.”\
\
“One of the conclusions of this study was that any impediment on the way to the target increases the chance that the suicide bomber would change his mind. This is because those who hesitate need some sort of excuse.\
\
“They have to have some sort of excuse to keep their self-respect.\
\
Or trick a boy that he will be unharmed when the blast goes off.\
\
“I am impervious to flame.”\
\
Man gets in truck to make deliveries\
\
Man makes turn towards Jews.\
\
Man heistates. \
\
Man chickens out, but maybe not forever.
Goes back and forth over motivating himself and doubting himself.
Background: family dead from something. Worked hard but radicalized at mosque. Pressured to perform suicide.
He is driving. Give us more driving detail. Character actions. Gripping wheel. He visited the market before. Describe it. Create tension of people. Show us what he is set to destroy. He doesn’t see the people shopping on the side, but tells of how they do it on Ben Yehuda.
He is trying to convince himself not to go through with it.
First Draft - Structured
The Hardest Part Of Driving A Truck\
The hardest part of driving a truck is remembering to brake early. All the roads bend quick and all the cars brake fast in Jerusalem. If I drive this truck like a car, I will surely collide with someone. I need to be careful about this.
I am driving the truck today because there are fabric reams in the trailer to be returned to the wholesaler to comply with the latest boycott. The leadership has told me to drive the truck through Ben Yehuda Street. The wholesaler is not located near Ben Yehuda street.
The air is hot and dry, as the summers always are. The windows are down but the air is too hot and the roads are too narrow and congested for any speed to bring air fast enough to bring relief. Instead, I and other drivers settle to drink in warm water to replace the warm sweat dripping out. The dust also whips up into whirlwinds and hits my face in miniature, out-of-place mimicry of problems my people faced when there was no pavement and no trucks and no foreigners.
The roads had bent quick since the days they were still made of dirt, and Jerusalem was still known to all as Al-Aqsa. I read of those days before the leadership had made it compulsory. I read when I had had nothing but the word of Allah and my Aunt’s love to keep going inshallah.
Auntie saved me but I grew up in the masjid. The muezzin’s call was my mother’s call home for supper. The brothers had hugged me and treated me as family of the one tribe. II had thought there was one tribe then but now knew there were many even in islam. The other tribes did not help us. Neither did the infidels.
There were still infidels back in the dirt road days. There were always infidels. The word of Allah was delivered to the prophet in a sea of men, who were then all instantly infidels until they converted. Some infidels had to meet the sword then as they meet bullets and blades and bombs.
And now trucks.
The man who owns
this
truck and the enterprise it is tied to is a Hebrew. He treats me like any other employee. There is no brotherhood for him, only shekels.
I saw the Hebrew people walking about with too much money to spend. In the dark times they had been allowed to lend money when our people were too proud to stoop that low. Now we all do ti just the same with what little money remains unclaimed by hebrews and christians.
A another Hebrew man honks at me past the intersection. They do not like trucks this big driving in the city. I wonder if later this angry man will be with the rest shopping along Ben Yehuda street. Will he ever concede that trucks are what stock the shelves in his city stores? Will he ever concede that Palestinians drive the trucks? Will he ever concede that rape and expulsion and bulldozers are what laid the foundation for his city stores?
I had walked Ben Yehuda. One could only walk there. The pavement full of pedestrians and no cars were allowed. People did not listen always so they had installed new pillars to prevent errants cars from bypassing the ordinance. I saw them for the first time last week.
Natan Strauss Street turns into King George Street. All the dirt roads are now paved and named after invaders and infidels.
The shop signs and most signs I pass today, and have passed most other days, are in Hebrew. I had learned it in school. The leadership who hadn’t learned it then would not learn it now out of revolt. It meant I was the one who could drive the truck. The lessons on braking early were drilled in me but everyone knows that braking too late is a common beginner’s mistake.
I read the Quran too of course. That had been compulsory since before the current leadership. That was a holy mandate. But I had also read the Christian Bible and then the Hebrew bible. I traced the lineage of prophets back through time from Muhammad to Isa to Yahya to David to Moses to Abraham to Noah to Adam, in the words that were closest written to their actual happenings.
We must take back our country from those who have tried to expell us. I must avenge the deaths of my parents against the tribe that has killed them.
The surah is clear to kill them wherever they overtake you and to expel them from wherever they have expelled you. The mandate is clear.
It goes before us. It is clear in the fifth book of the Hebrews. The God of Moses, the same God as our Allah, states that all the enemies greater than him but be destroyed totally and no quarter given.
But relevations supersede theirs. That was declared as definite by the leadership and there wouldn’t be tolerance of further questions. I had made the point that yo destroy your enemy you must know him but that did not go anywhere.
Many other soldiers had been tasked with ending their own lives for sure along with the act. I had not been made to make that choice for sure. I would be found out after the deed for sure and I would have no life comparable to the one I have now. Then maybe I would make a second, more final act of jihad. The leadership had a plan that could have me in it making two moves or merely just this one. It was my own tenacity or cleverness or will that would lead me in this moment. My will was not leading me to make a second act of jihad.
That was what I thought was diligent. The leadership had grown a fire in these years and it consumed me too through their words. I knew we were in a bad place and something had to change.
The leadership was to be obeyed and respected. They would mead us to freedom. They must. We continue to suffer from a national humiliation. Non of our so-called brother nations will help us. We must cut throats on our own.
I had a traveller’s prayer printed on a CD-rom and hanging from my rearview. In Islam we are permitted to shorten our prayer if we are travelling. I was speeding through it faster than I ever had before.
The leadership told me to start praying when I got this close. I start praying to Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful.
Mercy I beg him, for what I am compelled to do. For faith. For nation. For tribe.
Guide us to the Straight Way.
My will was not leading me to make a first act of jihad. I wasn’t ready to pull the sword. I still have questions.
Ben Yehuda Street bends quick back northwards off King George Street. I turn the truck in line. Then I turn the truck further so that it doesn’t line up with the road anymore and I am closing the thread loop to poke through the seam of people stitched down Ben Yehuda Street.
People are waiting for the lights to let them cross. They are behind concrete pillars.
I brake, but I should have braked earlier.
The front tired goes over the curb and into the first guard pillar. They are newly installed to prevent people like me from making new tragedies.
I hop out and check the front. A headlight has disintegrated and the body is crumpled inwards. The concrete pillars are newly installed.
Two tourist police run over and see my skin tone. They draw their guns and I hold my hands up. Things are tense. I tell them I had should have breaked earlier and turned the truck out of traffic. They believe me. All the roads bend quick and the guard pillars are newly installed. The engine still starts and the truck is blocking traffic. I get off my phone to tell the police there is an open truck garage 10 minutes away. I am allowed to drive away an hour later.
The leadership will make me try again soon.
\
Second Draft - Refined
The Hardest Part Of Driving A Truck\
The hardest part of driving a truck is remembering to brake early. All the roads bend quick and all the cars brake fast in Jerusalem. If I drive this truck like a car, I will collide with something. I need to be careful.
There are fabric reams in the trailer to be returned to the wholesaler. The leadership has told me to drive the truck through Ben Yehuda Street. The wholesaler is not located near Ben Yehuda Street.
The windows down are down. Wind blows swift enough to pick up dirt, but is too hot and dry to provide relief. The roads are too narrow and congested for the truck to gain the necessary speed to cut through air fast enough to bring relief. Instead, I steadily drink warm water to replace the sweat draining out. Dust funnels up and spittles my face. Small mimicry of the storms my people faced when there was no pavement and no trucks and no foreigners here.
The roads have bent quick since they were still made of dirt, and Jerusalem was still known as Al-Aqsa. I read of those days back when I had nothing but the word of Allah and my Aunt’s love to keep going.
Growing up in a masjid, the muezzin’s call was akin a mother’s call home for supper. The brothers had hugged me and treated me as one of the tribe. I had naively thought there was one tribe back then as the Quran willed, but now knew there were many. The other tribes have their own nations to hide from the infidels. They do not choose to help us often.
There were infidels even back in the dirt road days. There were always infidels. The word of Allah was delivered to the prophet in a sea of men, all then instantly infidels until converted. Infidels met the sword back then. They meet bullets and bombs today.
And now trucks.
The man who owns
this
truck and it’s enterprise is an infidel. There is no brotherhood for him, only shekels. In the time of the Caliphs, infidels had been allowed to lend money when our people were too proud to bend so low. Now we all do it just the same.
Nathan Strauss Street narrows here. There is no room to pass and I must squeeze a car out to fall behind me. It’s Hebrew driver honks and curses me. They do not like big trucks driving in the city. I wonder if later this angry man will be among the rest shopping on Ben Yehuda Street. Will he ever concede that big trucks are what stock the shelves in the stores? Will he ever concede that Palestinians drive the trucks? Will he ever concede that rape and bulldozers preceded the stores?
I had walked on Ben Yehuda Street last week, in advance of this. No cars were allowed anywhere on the street, so the Hebrews with too much money to spend could walk as they pleased.The roads bend quick and the drivers don’t listen in Jerusalem so they had installed new pillars on Ben Yehuda Street. I saw them for the first time last week.
Natan Strauss Street turns into King George Street. All the old dirt roads are now paved and named after invaders and infidels. The shop signs are in Hebrew and I had learned it in school. The leadership does not speak Hebrew. That meant I was the one who would drive the truck. The instructor had reminded me to brake early. Braking too late is a common beginner’s mistake.
We must take back our country from those who have expelled us. The surah is clear to kill them wherever they overtake you and to expel them from wherever they have expelled you. The mandate is clear.
I have also read the Christian and Hebrew bibles, tracing the lineage of prophets back through time. From Muhammad to Isa to Yahya to David to Moses to Abraham to Noah and Adam. Allah’s commands written in the words closest to their speakings. The mandate stands from back then - the fifth book of the Hebrew bible. The God of Moses, the same Allah, states that all the enemies greater than Moses must be destroyed totally and no quarter given.
Our revelations supersede theirs. That was declared as definite by the leadership. I made the point of knowing our enemy to destroy our enemy but there would be no further questioning. My wife does not tolerate my inquisitions any more than the leadership.
They are building a new gas station on King George Street so I am signalled to switch into the oncoming lane by an orange vested construction worker holding a yellow flag. The oncoming traffic is being forced to yield so that I may cross. I see more Hebrew drivers cursing my existence in their path.
Other soldiers tasks made ending their lives a necessity whereas such sacrifce was not required to complete this mission. I would surely be found out for commiting the deed afterwards and have no life comparable to the one I have now. Then, maybe, I would make a more final act of jihad afterwards. I could not will myself to picture that second act of jihad. I must focus on the tricky mission I have no. That is what I think is diligent.
The leadership had ignited a righteous fire in these recent years and it had consumed the rest of us too. Something has to change, and by the sword. The leadership is to be obeyed and respected. They will lead us to emancipation. We continue to suffer from a national humiliation. Non of our so-called cousins in other tribes will help us. We must cut throats on our own.
I had a traveller’s prayer printed on a CD-rom hanging from my rearview. I am permitted to shorten our prayer if I am travelling. I have been speeding through it faster than ever before. The leadership told me to start praying out loud when I got this close.
\
To Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful. Mercy I beg you, for what I am compelled to do. For faith. For nation. For tribe.
\
Guide me to the Straight Way.
I could not will myself to picture the first act of jihad.
Ben Yehuda Street bends quick back northwards off King George Street. I turn the truck in line. Then I turn the truck further into the oncoming lane. I am turning the truck through the oncoming lane to aim it straight through the pedestrians on Ben Yehuda Street.
People are waiting for the lights to let them cross. They are behind the new pillars.
I brake, but I should have braked earlier. The front tired goes over the curb and between two pillars. Pedestrians scream and scatter. My braking foot reaches the floor. My body lifts to hit my head against the windshield. An equal force pushes me back firmly into my seat. I collect myself while pedestrians scatter farther away.
I hop out and check the front of the truck. A headlight has turned to powder and the body has crumpled inwards.
Two tourist police run over and see my skin tone. They draw their guns and I hold my hands up. They make me get down on the ground and and I’m made to kiss the dirt whirring at their feet. They yell at me and ask for explanations. I thank Allah that they want to understand and not shoot. I tell them I had should have braked earlier. I overshot and then turned the truck out of the path of traffic.
They run my ID card through their computer. I know am I in there for stealing cigarettes at 16 and overpaying tax three years ago. There could be other actions deemed offences in there.
They believe me. All the roads bend quick and the guard pillars are newly installed.
The police think it was an accident. The leadership will think it was a failure.
The truck’s engine still starts and it is blocking traffic. I get off my phone to tell the police there is an open garage 10 minutes away. I am allowed to drive off.
The leadership will make me try again soon.
Laura Edit
The Hardest Part Of Driving A Truck\
The hardest part of driving a truck is remembering to brake early. All the roads bend quick and all the cars brake fast in Jerusalem. If I drive this truck like a car, I will surely collide with something. I need to be careful.
There are fabric reams in the trailer to be returned to the wholesaler. The leadership has told me to drive the truck through Ben Yehuda Street. The wholesaler is not located near Ben Yehuda Street.
I have the windows down. The wind blows enough to pick up dirt, but is too hot and dry to provide relief. The roads are too narrow and congested for the truck to gain the necessary speed to cut through air fast enough to bring relief. Instead, I steadily drink warm water to replace the sweat draining out. Dust funnels up and *HYPERLINK “scrivcmt://050FFB15-5167-4200-A10F-6EF779703C2D”spittles my face. Small mimicry of the storms my people faced when there was no pavement and no trucks and no foreigners here.
The roads have bent quick since they were still made of dirt, and Jerusalem was still known as Al-Aqsa. I read of those days back when I had nothing but the word of Allah and my Aunt’s love to keep going. My wife was of no additional love. She only sees what I cannot give.
Growing up in a masjid, the muezzin’s call was akin a mother’s call home for supper. The brothers had hugged me and treated me as one of the tribe. I had naively thought there was one tribe back then as the Quran willed, but now knew there were many. The other tribes have their own nations to hide from the infidels. They do not choose to help us often.
There were infidels even back in the dirt road days. There were always infidels. The word of Allah was delivered to the prophet in a sea of men, all then instantly infidels until converted. Some infidels had met the sword back then, as they meet bullets and bombs today.
And now trucks.
The man who owns
this
truck and it’s enterprise is an infidel. There is no brotherhood for him, only shekels. In the time of the Caliphs, infidels had been allowed to lend money when our people were too proud to bend so low. Now we all do it just the same.
I check my speed gauge and slow down. Nathan Strauss Street narrows here. There is no room to pass and I must *HYPERLINK “scrivcmt://B67E722E-BED3-40A6-A759-6DF32F62A5A7”squeeze a car out to fall behind me. It’s Hebrew driver honks and curses me. They do not like big trucks driving in the city. I wonder if later this angry man will be among the rest shopping on Ben Yehuda Street. Will he ever concede that big trucks are what stock the shelves in the stores? Will he ever concede that Palestinians drive the trucks? Will he ever concede that rape and bulldozers preceded the stores?
I had walked on Ben Yehuda Street last week, in advance of this. No cars were allowed anywhere on the street, so the Hebrews with too much money to spend could walk as they pleased.The roads bend quick and the drivers don’t listen in Jerusalem so they had installed new pillars on Ben Yehuda Street. I saw them for the first time last week. Allah blesses and protects those he loves.
Natan Strauss Street turns into King George Street. All the old dirt roads are now paved and named after invaders and infidels. The shop signs are in Hebrew and I had learned it in school. The leadership does not speak Hebrew. That meant I was the one who would drive the truck. The instructor had reminded me to brake early. Braking too late is a common beginner’s mistake.
We must take back our country from those who have expelled us. The surah is clear to kill them wherever they overtake you and to expel them from wherever they have expelled you. The mandate is clear.
I have also read the Christian Bible and the Hebrew bible. I have traced the lineage of prophets back through time from Muhammad to Isa to Yahya to David to Moses to Abraham to Noah and Adam. I have read Allah’s commands in the words closest written to their speakings. The mandate stands from before, in the fifth book of the Hebrews. The God of Moses, the same Allah, states that all the enemies greater than Moses must be destroyed totally and no quarter given.
But our revelations supersede theirs. That was declared as definite by the leadership and there would be no tolerance of further questioning. I made the point of knowing our enemy to destroy our enemy but there would be no further questioning.
They are building a new gas station so I am signalled to switch into the oncoming lane by a construction worker holding a flag. The oncoming traffic is being forced to yield so that I may cross. I see more Hebrew drivers cursing my existence in their path.
Other soldiers tasks made ending their lives a necessity whereas such sacrifce was not required to complete this mission. I would surely be found out for commiting the deed afterwards and have no life comparable to the one I have now. Then, maybe, I would make a more final act of jihad afterwards. I could not will myself to picture that second act of jihad. I must focus on the tricky mission I have no. That is what I think is diligent.
The leadership had ignited a righteous fire in these recent years and it had consumed the rest of us too. Something has to change, and by the sword. The leadership is to be obeyed and respected. They will lead us to emancipation. We continue to suffer from a national humiliation. Non of our so-called cousins in other tribes will help us. We must cut throats on our own.
I had a traveller’s prayer printed on a CD-rom hanging from my rearview. I am permitted to shorten our prayer if I am travelling. I have been speeding through it faster than ever before. The leadership told me to start praying out loud when I got this close.
\
To Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful. Mercy I beg you, for what I am compelled to do. For faith. For nation. For tribe.
\
Guide me to the Straight Way.
I could not will myself to picture the first act of jihad.
Ben Yehuda Street bends quick back northwards off King George Street. I turn the truck in line. Then I turn the truck further into the oncoming lane. I imagine the Hebrew drivers are too surprised to curse me. Their windshields whir by too fast for me to gauge. I am turning the truck through the oncoming lane to aim it straight through the pedestrians on Ben Yehuda Street.
People are waiting for the lights to let them cross. They are behind the new pillars.
I brake, but I should have braked earlier. The front tired goes over the curb and between two pillars. Pedestrians scream and scatter. My braking foot reaches the floor. My body lifts to hit my head against the windshield. An equal force pushes me back firmly into my seat. I collect myself while pedestrians scatter farther away.
I hop out and check the front of the truck. A headlight has turned to powder and the body has crumpled inwards.
Two tourist police run over and see my skin tone. They draw their guns and I hold my hands up. Things are tense. I tell them I had should have braked earlier. I overshot and then turned the truck out of the path of traffic.
They run my ID card through their computer. I know am I in there for stealing cigarettes at 16 and overpaying tax three years ago. There could be other actions deemed offences in there.
They believe me. All the roads bend quick and the guard pillars are newly installed.
The police believe it was an accident and the leadership will believe my intent.
The truck’s engine still starts and it is blocking traffic. I get off my phone to tell the police there is an open garage 10 minutes away. I am allowed to drive off.
The leadership will make me try again soon.
Insight
Voice: He is convincing himself of not going through with his suicide mission.
Wind: The wind is a triple entendre: wind, his actions, impotence. Build in allusions to failed marriage - gives clues to his motives and frustration.
When he is walking through Ben Yehuda and sees the pillars as his escape route - relates to quranic prophecy/salvation.
Story skeleton and select meat is in place. Need to cut and add pieces.
The concrete pillars allude to the 5 pillars of Islam.