triumph and tragedy

7/28/2019 Triumph and Tragedy

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Triumph and Tragedy

by Owen Donohue


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Tales from a forgotten land


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13 October

For the purpose of this journey I am using this journal in which important

events and experiences will be recorded. Today we have escaped the grasps of

Abdullah and the country that he ruled in brutal tyranny. My brother and uncle

have joined me on this crude raft today as we head west, my wise uncle tells me.

If by any chance I do not survive this trip I am leaving behind a recollection of

my attempt at freedom. God help me through this journey that I may survive but

if the time comes I wish the world will know my fate and the atrocities of the life

I left behind.

By the way, my uncle wrote that first paragraph. Hes the dramatic type

you might say.

My name is Qaheer Abadi. I am fifteen years old I think and my brother

says he is nineteen. His name is Izzat. We are both orphans with no family other

than our uncle if he really is our uncle. His name is Abdul but we call him Uncle

because that is what he likes to be called. He has been the person who has led us

through life, and although he may not be the most honest man, he cares enough

to keep us alive and safe and that is what matters to me. My brother thinks

otherwise. Hes a rebel.

I am a devout Christian as is my Uncle. This is not appreciated by the

Islamic Sharia Law that governed our former country, so we are not public for

risk of death. Yes, death.

Today is an exciting day and I will write as much as my hand permits.

Uncle says we have escaped, Izzat is not too sure. That is to say, escaped from

Saudi Arabia, through the Red Sea and into Cairo to the United States Embassy.

At least, that is the plan. I dont know what it will be like in Cairo or the United


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States Embassy. I have only left Al Medina once in my life, to go to Al Riyadh

the capital. That was when we both still had a father, so I do not remember. Izzat

does and sometimes he talks about it like I wasnt there.

What happened was that after our father died, our uncle took us in to his

own house and things started to get bad quickly. Our uncle could not pay his

debts with the Saudi government and our way of life deteriorated. We resorted to

stealing and begging but I never had the balls to steal, only Izzat and Uncle

Abdul did. Once Uncle even ran away from the police and he doesnt talk about

that, not never. Izzat says he got caught stealing and a few hundred policemen

appeared out of nowhere started chasing him and it was just like the movies. I

used to believe my brother but I dont now. He thinks Im stupid but Im not.

Anyways there was an uprising a few months ago in Egypt and democracy

has taken over. Meanwhile in Arabia there were executions every month at least

in public. Chop-chop square they call it in Al Riyadh and people would get killed

with a sword there. Im glad I was too young to remember but Uncle says it was

horrible.

The Sharia law says that thieves can get killed after four times. My uncle

only has two more shots. One of Izzats school friends has been convicted

three times.

That is why we are here on this boat. Politics.

My uncle is a man with very strong feelings. When he sees the news on

television or paper or radio he can get very worked up so much that a younger

me would have been quite scared. He feels particularly strongly about the overly

Islamic law in Saudi society or something like that. So one day we (as in our

uncle) decided to run away and he has planned this out for months and now it is

really happening.


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My hand is getting tired, maybe Ill write later.

6:30

I want to take these few final moments of light to say that the view is

amazing from this tiny boat. We have probably 1000 kilometres more on this

journey but we must go further north and risk everything if the Egyptian police

see us.

I can hardly see my hand now so I must stop. I will write more tomorrow.

14 October

Today I will not write as much because before was more of an

introduction to my life, explanation of this journal and of that sort of material.

Today I will record more physical events to pass on to the United States Embassy

if or if I do not survive the journey.

Here is an inventory for the reader of this journal that I have written out of

boredom and curiosity:

5 days of canned foods (my uncle saved up for a long time)

5 days of fresh waterstolen

4 pocketknives (we each have one, my uncle two)

A raft made of tires, scrap wood and metal

Journal + pen

Cellular phone

Revolversix rounds


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There it is. That I think is all we have with us on our way to freedom and

may God make them last and let us survive.

Nothing eventful happened today.

15 October

I woke up to shouting and seeing land. Disappointingly, it was Saudi

Arabian territory. My uncle and brother were fighting and arguing over whose

fault it was and which direction to go now. I cant deal with this madness.

(later)

Saw a flying fish. It was amazing.

16 October

As pathetic as this may sound I am beginning to feel homesick. I know

that the life I left behind was living hell but as much as I hated it I am doubting

the success in our plan. I will write now, write to take my mind off things, write

for comfort, write out of sheer boredom. Blah blah blah blah what should I write

about? I am fifteen years old and I have an uncle and brother. Here are some of

the few things that I enjoyed back home:

A bath. I had baths every now and then. It may not seem like much to rich

folks in America but wow, was it ever a great feeling to be that clean if this was a

sea of clean water would I drink all of it or what.


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One of my favorite places to be is in front of a nice, warm fireplace. Im

careful not to get too close, even though I love the feel of my worn-out old socks

when they get all toasty. Every time I smell that familiar smell of logs burning,

Im reminded ofthe many camping trips I took as a child. It all makes me wantto poke some food on a long, twiggy stick and toast it over the flames until its

dark brown.

All this writing about comforts is making me hungry and lonely. Not

working like I thought it would. Oh, well. We will surely have those types of

things in America.

Hopefully.

17 October

I dont understand. Fifth day at sea and still no sign of land. We were

supposed to see the Sinai Peninsula or something like that. I pray to God that we

arent going the wrong way. PLEASE DONT LET THAT HAPPEN.


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Jesus Im panicked. I just dont know what to do. I have no knowledge

when it comes to sailing or navigation, nor do my brother or uncle for that

matter. Still I dont know what the hell to do. I pray I pray that were going the

right way.

18 October

They say there are sharks in the Red Sea.

I wonder if theyre right because it looks like a storm is coming.

(later)

Please God dont let us into that storm. Now all three of us are rowing the

hell out of ourselves and I hope it doesnt happen. If this book survives tell the

world how it is. PLEASE.

20 October (maybe?)

I remember everything that happened. To start off, it was a storm of epic

proportions. I dont mean a breezy gale that could knock three people off of a

poorly built raft; Im talking about a hurricane or cyclone, at least thats what

Uncle said.

The sea was very choppy to begin with, and we could tell this from the

bobbing of the raft. Waves began to get higher and higher, tossing us around inthe night. At this point I begin to crack. I begin to notice how very alone we are

in this seemingly endless ocean. I realized that we could not possibly be in the

right place because we saw no land whatsoever and the water seemed much

deeper than before. Dark clouds moved above us and waves stopped being


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uniform and continued to barrel into our puny raft from every single direction.

Thunder, then lightning. It was austere. Gusts of wind threatened to take our sail

and possibly our lives as we hung on perilously.

To make a long story short, we nearly died during that storm.

And here we are now, sitting on this island.

As far as I can tell, there is no plant life. It is almost entirely rock,

probably a few hundred feet across and a few hundred in length. I dont have a

clue were it is.

Heres a revised inventory for whoever finds thisjournal:

________________________

2 pocketknives

2 useless bullets

This journal and pen

Broken cellular phone

________________________

Basically, nothing of use.

This is my only comfort. My only comfort in the whole wide world.

Writing can stop me from the madness that is to come I swear on the cross of

Jesus it is. My uncle is weak and my brother refuses to talk.

They say Moses parted the Red Sea for the Israelites in Egypt. It sure as

hell isnt opening up for us now.


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Ha! Ha!

21 October

A plane passed overhead but did not stop. My brother and I ripped off our

shirts and started frantically waving and shouting for help, but it was no use.

Whoever was flying either didnt have the kindness to get help or simply didnt

see us. Thats the first time any sign of life has been seen by us for 8 days.


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A day has passed and my uncle is weaker. I dont think he will survive the

days to come. His back has a gigantic gash right through it.

I can see bone.

22 October

I want to be a lawyer when I grew up. You see, with my uncle being all

into politics and whatnot, I developed and learned in a very law-based life. The

Islamic law is what I am mainly opposed to and scared of because it is unjust and

harsh. If only King Abdullah could see the damage he has done to his own

country with these ridiculous laws.

The use of capital punishment in Saudi Arabia is, like I said before, based

on Islamic Sharia law because Islam is the national religion (you have no say in

this, you are born Islam in Saudi Arabia). Its usually done by beheading the

person. Sometimes the beheaded body is crucified like that of our Lord Jesus

Christ.

23 October

I am so weak I can hardly write anything today.

25 october

to whoever finds this please

The memoirs of a convict


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The prison cell was dirty to say the least. The walls were encrusted with

filthy remains of disease and bad memories. They closed in. I could not escape

the endless, darkened wait to freedom. I sat in the corner of the chilly room,

where the sharp edges met into vicious corners in the small, cramped cells. The

walls, unpainted, connected each corner forming a perfectly shaped square room.

The uneven stone on each of the four walls carried a burden of memories where

psychotic men drawing closer and closer to the jaws of death had been scratching

at the walls. Looking up from the corner of the cell, my light flickered as moths

flutter around it finding the only hope and light that is left in the prison.

The door. The mocking soft brown of the wood showed where previous

prisoners had clawed in a bid for a desperate escape from their fate. Some people

had scratched indecipherable words in to the wood, maybe a warning for those

who entered, maybe half crazed scribbling of people gone mad. The natural lines

of wood echoed the rest of my prison made of natural resources that should have

been warm and homely but had been turned in to something cold and unfeeling

by the greyness that illuminated my cell. The stones huge and grey, slotted

together in an uneven arch surrounding the door, like a padlock that told me I

would never be free. The brass handle protruding from the door, dirtied from the

many futile attempts to turn it and the keyhole wide and round, an entrance to

another world, teasing me.

The room held one bed and a basin for a lavatory. The bed was rusty and

only five feet long, with no mattress and a single sheet covered in suspicious

stains. The stone flood was covered in small, dead bugs. Around these bugs small

bits of dried blood were visible from attempted suicides, perhaps. Some

succeeded, so they say. Some lived the rest of his life in pain and torment. Some

returned to the claustrophobic cell for years on end.


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It was about time for the guard to pass on his hourly patrol. His steel

capped boots were audible all throughout the prison, clacking together ominously

with slow, steady anticipation rising in each prisoner as he made his way around

the perimeter. Men shivered in darkness, knowing the job of this man and whathe would do to them in the near future. Every night, just as he would reach my

cell, he would, ever so slowly, turn back the way he came from. I could not tell

why he did this but it occurred to me that this was the end of the hallway and I

was the last cell. This was a start to finding out where I was in this endless

labyrinth of a prison. The first time I woke up I knew not wether it was day or

night, hot or cold, or where I was. It was one of the worst feelings I have ever

known.

I wrote that in my journal, my prize possession in prison. These are the actual

events that happened to me while in prison for two years for extended drug

abuse.

Prison smelled terrible. Nobody ever flushes the toilet. The only reason prisons

look clean in the pictures is because we ave to clean them all day. The first time I

smelled cologne out in the real world was amazing.


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After a while, drugs became a viable option. If a man can smuggle drugs

on the outside in the real world, he can do it inside the prison, for a better price,

weird as it may be. I decided to get onto heroin after about six months because I

simply couldnt deal with the pain and everything. Id tried it once outside of

prison and I didnt like it. In the current situation, however, I was stupid and

decided to take it anyway. The problem was the stuff that it was cut with. Baking

soda, crystals, flour would not normally be inside your vein. So after a while, my

body was full of stuff I never dreamed of putting into me. Not to mention the

rumored AIDS epidemic hitting prisons like bombs. So I grew my nails long

enough to cut myself in the leg to put tablets inside of me.


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Things were rough.

In the 80s or even earlier, prisons were full of stupid cliquesgangs,

religion, or simply ethnicity. There were mostly Islamic gangs because it was the

predominant religion, and the only one tolerated by the Saudi Arabian

government. Even white collars stuck together to keep out of trouble. Now,

everything is set in this atmosphere of intense paranoia. Its basically every man

for himself. Most people spend time working out alone or ignoring other

cellmates.

I saw more than a few deaths inside prison. I think seven, if Im correct.

One was a gunshot to a guy who tried to escape. Three of them were beatingsfrom the guards. The other ones were stabbings or more accurately, digging a

hole. The problem with makeshift shivs are that they arent sharp enough to kill

or do too much damage. It brings me great pain to write this, but what people

would do is, stab real quick and start pulling everything out. Eventually, people

died. Some inexperienced first-timer who thought he was the king of the jail tried

that crap and got himself busted in solitary for a month.

I didnt really have many friends in prison. There was this one who was

using heroin while driving, and he was serving much longer than I was, probably

because he was an immigrant. The fact that I was well spoken and Muslim

went a long way with the authorities. We werent cell mates but occa sionally got

to see each other at lunch or some other time during the day. He was probably

my closest ally in prison and after he got transferred thats when I started using.

Second guy was also on drugs but this time it was opium. He was really

scared about the whole thing. He probably wet the bed every day of the week

when he first came in. I tried to ease some heroin onto him to adjust, but it was a

big mistake. The guy got hooked after one time.


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Anyways, Im trying to say that prison was the worst. There isnt a

convict alive who doesnt look back on prison and shudder. There isnt a guy

who doesnt look back and see all the bad memories that it gave him or regret

what he was in for.

Thats it for now. Im a free man.


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Brothers and bodies

I had a feeling something was coming. That feeling had been in my bones

since the day I learned to talk. When I was six I dreamed that the world had

ended and I was the last one standing. I saw the bodies of my family and I didnt

sleep for days at a time, living in complete fear of the apocalypse. I built a bomb

shelter with my cousin one year and thats when people backed off. I was an

outcast; nobody believed me or believed in me, not even my own dad. Every day

I knew that something terrible was going to happen but no one listens, do they?

Most people hated it when I talked about it and told me to shut up or chill out but

theres this anxiety deep within me that says somethings going to happen, right?

And so I wouldnt shut up.

Knock it off, they said. Are you serious? they said.

They called me stupid, weird, whatever. The point is, no one believed a

word that came out of my mouth. Not a damn word.

Not until now, when the disease has officially killed 87 percent of the

worlds population. I wish they could see what Ive been trying to tell them, but

its too late. Everyone I know is dead.

I dont know why, but this I told you so isnt making me feel any better.

When people ask me how I survive, it doesnt seem like my time

consuming preparations that took years got me where I am right now. Anyone

who knew me would say my survival was simply dumb luck. They would tell me

all of my endless planning would be entirely useless if I wasnt immune to the


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disease. In a way, they are right. However I disagree with that. What I believe is

that God gives people foresight and if they dont use it its their own fault. Im

only immune to the pathogen that has killed billions of people because I prepared

for this and I trained for this type of situation. My friends and family, they didntprepare like I did. Now theyre dead and Im alive.

I used to work at the fire department in the other world, the other time. As

a paramedic. I never really connected with my fellow firemen and they used to

joke around about me; I was used to it and it didnt really bother me. Anyways,

once the infection started spreading at a slow rate, several months ago, a few of

them started taking me seriously and sucking up to me. It got me thinking, in the

event that this turns out to be a large-scale blow to humanity, everyone is going

to want what I have.

And I was right. Civilization collapsed and just as I predicted, the friends

of mine who had survived on dumb luck through the epidemic flooded my front

lawn, begging for help. They took a few of their friends with them, too. I saw at

least thirty of those miserable wretches dying and suffering, threatening and

attacking on my own front lawn. I didnt store food, water, weapons, electricity,

and gas for years just to waste it on people who didnt appreciate me and had no

foresight. I was very explicit in telling them I could not help them. I told them

specifically to leave and I wished them luck. Still they would not listen, so I fired

a few rounds to scare them off. They didnt take me seriously, after all these

years. They thought I was some kind of gracious fool who gave away his earned

rations to people that didnt care for him, only his supplies. I wouldnt simply

sacrifice my own healthy lifestyle for their own petty ones. Their pitiful begging

didnt change my mind. I had no choice but to kill the ones that had the audacity

to stay and beg. I used the mounted maching gun on the roof of my two-story

fortified house. I wanted to bury them like a proper human being, but my level of

immunity was still too weak for that amount of exposed disease for me to exit the


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house. I planned not to have to. It didnt really matter, because the bodies simply

rotted away after some months with no help from my own hands. I didnt have

to do a thing. I felt sort of guilty, but one has little to no room for that sort of

thing in the world that was about to come. Besides, my mentality for emotion isalready that of a sociopathic person.

Instead of hanging on to this experience, I just settled down and waited for

the issue to die down.

Nearly two years passed by and I still had an abundance of supplies.

I spent most of my free time killing boredom with the old xBox and

magazines. By the year was up I had read all of them ten times and beat all of my

xBox games. Life was dull.

I had almost gone insane. Almost two years had passed and I had no

human contact. I dont think whoever will read this understands the madness that

means. Three years with out seeing a single living soul. That is, until one day that

I was out scavenging.

I slowly opened the door of my fortified house, the place I had eaten and

slept for years. I had with me a hunting knife, a flashlight, and my trusty

revolver. When I walked out the door, everything looked different.

The wasteland that was my neighborhood was deteriorated. My front lawn

had grass that was a few feet tall. Anything that was left of human remains hit

me like a stink bomb, rotten and disgusting. Sections of the brick wall

surrounding my home still stood ominously as I walked slowly outside and

waited for my eyes to adjust to the bright light.

I took off my glasses and I wiped them on the corner of my t-shirt riddled

with holes. They were really dusty, even after only a minute outside. After I


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cleaned them, I tied a bandana around my face, put my pistol in its holster, and

walked away towards the early morning sun.

I strolled up the hilly street that led east. The signpost had long been

scrapped for weapons or metal. Probably gangs of thieves desperate to survive

just like anyone else out here. The street was littered with trash and hopeless

barricades that did nothing to block out the pathogen that killed so many of the

human race and nearly all in this neighborhood. Populations are still reclining.

You would think that the government would have something to do with this, but

no. Nothing had happened and anarchy ensued, causing more death than ever

before.

As soon as the top of the hill was visible, another, larger street appeared. I

took a left turn on this one, which would lead me directly to the communitys

shopping center. This was my plan. I needed to get food, water, and other

supplies. Medicine. Toilet paper, if I was lucky. Humanity could survive for

generations without electricity, running water, and cooked food, but take away

the toilet paper and everyones going down.

At this point I begin to see larger barricades. A gigantic 16-wheeler lies

diagonally across the road, tipped on its side and full of holes and dents. Another

smaller car sits upside down, crushed. Two of the houses to my left are no longer

standing. They are simply empty spaces with a bunch of crap thrown into them,

together in a gigantic pile of rubble. The rest of the dwellings are in poor shape

as well. Chips and gashes into the sides of the foundations mark a world changed

by an apocalyptic event, and it gives me a sobering feel as I walk down the road

for the first time in years.

I see the shopping center. Its actually looking better than I expected.

Although there is no longer any glass on the windows, I can see displays of food

(rotted by now, of course) and fine china, unbroken by this shaken world.


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Its eerily normal.

One of the signs above the door says, Vintage clothing. I peer in one of

the glassless windows and see mannequins, one of them lying on the floor and

holding its hands out in a pose as if they were humans.

As if.

I just stand there awhile, taking it all in, wondering why this is all still so

perfectly intact. Then it hits me: nobody is left in this town. Either we were the

first to go or most people moved when they heard about this new disease

spreading in the area.

II start to dance with one of the mannequins. I know this sounds stupid

but think about it. Not seeing a single person in over a year? Theres nothing that

stopped me, nobody was there to judge me. Even so, there was a part of me that

was judging myself, so I felt the tiniest bit embarrassed (and maybe a little

insane) and consequently stopped.

I set down the mannequin and looked around the boutique. There were

some pretty classy outfits and a few pieces of fine jewelry, but that wasnt the

point. The reason I went here was a simple one. I knew that the store had a radio.

That radio could be used to contact other survivors. I hardly even need to think

about it. Its the obvious thing to do in a situation like this (I learned this from

every disaster movie ever made).

Also, not many people would think to look in a place like this for toilet

paper. I did because its pretty large and has a bathroom, oddly enough.

Anyways.

I go through the back hallway and find the bathroom. Sure enough, there

it is. The place obviously didnt have running water still, but someone had filled

the sink recently, which means


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Theres someone else here.

Or, more likely, they left. Who the hell lives in a vintage clothing store? I

have to say, its smart if somebody managed to survive here. Fabric kills germs,

and fabric is literally everywhere in this place. The possibility that theres

someone else here just doesnt seem plausible to me. Even so, I prepare myself to

search for life. I wet down my hair, sweaty from rising temperatures outside, and

then drink the rest of the water quickly.

I take out my hunting knife, just in case.

Not sure if its the right approach, but I cautiously go down into the

basement of the boutique to see whos here. Knife held out with my right hand, I

make a cross with my hands and flick on the flashlight in my left. Just like a

scene out of a horror movie. I try and keep calm.

The stairs are open and wooden, which makes it really hard to conceal

yourself. I dont want to be creeping up on someone who might kill me in self-

defense, but I also dont want to shout out to someone who might kill me for my

supplies anyways. After all this time with no human contact, I dont even know

how to talk to a real person anymore. I might ruin my chances at survival if I

dont handle this situation correctly and leave a good impression on the person or

people who are down here.

I take a deep breath, revealing myself like a ginger in a pack of brunettes.

Idiot, I scream inside my head, as I try and conceal myself from whatever

lies ahead. Although, whats the point now that I already gave myself away?

I decide to say hello.

Except it comes out more like He-*cough* Hello?

I waited.


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And waited.

And waited some more.

Then, just as I was about to walk back up the stairs, a raspy voice reaches

out to me and says, Wait!

I spin around, adrenaline rushing through my body. I cant describe the

feeling you get when you hear another persons voice after a year and a half of

solitude. I sighed with relief and gladness. I have to admit, even I couldnt stay

alone for that long.

Who are you? the voice says.

A survivor. Theycall me P.

P? As in purple?

Yeah.

A short but awkward silence follows. I really dont know how to talk to

anyone, like I said.

A light flickers on. My eyes have to adjust again to it, although its

comforting in a dark basement like this.

I see two figures. The first is probably whoever addressed me, because

hes older than the other one and had a deep voice. He looks about 30 years old,

pale skin, sunglasses. He has a dark shade of hair that goes down to his shoulders

in an ugly mullet. Hes wearing a grey shirt with no sleeves that expose thevarious tattoos on his arms.

The other guy is younger, probably 18 or 19 by the looks of him. He has a

pair of taped up glasses and a Marine-style crew cut and buckteeth. He also


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sports the same style ofshirt but his skinny arms arent wearing any ink. Theyre

both sunburnt and have guns.

I have to say, I wasnt expecting a pair of country rednecks in a place that

sells vintage stuff.

But if theyre talking to me right now, then they must know at leas t a few

tricks to getting food and living, regardless of whether they are in a boutique or

not. So I decide to be friendly.

Where do you come from? I say, although I need to make bonds with

them, not small talk.

Down south in Kentucky, the smallerone says defensively.

What are your names? I ask.

Im Bill and this here is Elias. We dont want no trouble from you tho.

Anybody else down here?

Nope.

I look down at Elias. He looks up nervously like he doesnt trust me but I

feel like Bill does already. I dont know if I can do the same to them, but I hope

we survive.

We all walk out of the store into the sunset.


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Epilogue

Its been two more years since I discovered Bill and Elias. Weve survived by

going from place to place and weve found several more survivors, including a

bioscientist. Together, we are trying to find a cure to the epidemic.

Theres Kate, an ex-Marine, who handles our rationing and armory. Ben is this

kid we found wandering on the highway. Hes actually pretty cool and hes

handy with radios, so every day, he tries to communicate with other survivors.

Also, two survivors came in a few weeks ago. Their names are Mary and Jake.

Jakes the bioscientist. So, weve got seven people who make up this little

community. Were living in an abandoned house, but its on the edge of town

away from harm.

You could say my people skills have improved. Im no longer driving away

people who need help, so thats a start.

The post-apocalyptic world is pretty bad. Theres almost no man-preserved food

left, so we have to constantly build more gardens and water collectors to keep us

going. Theres no real sense of government, either. I mean, its not a problem

with a small group like the one Im in, but if humanity somehow pulls through,

think of all the barbaric things people could do to each other. People would just

be so afraid of each other they would forget how to interact with each other like

in the old world.

Also, need I say that theres no toilet paper?

At the end of the day, Im alive. Thats what matters to me. I know it sounds

selfish, and I do care to some extent about people in this group, but everyone has

to admit that they would be happy knowing they would live tomorrow when they

go to sleep at night. Right?


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Nobody ever believed me when I told them that the world was going to end one

day soon. Nobody who I dared tell that survived.

I dont mean to brag, but I was right and you were wrong.


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Cited clip art

Appibelleart.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 22 Mar. 2013.

.

Blogs.citypaper.com. Citypaper.com, n.d. Web. 22 Mar. 2013.

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Clker.com. Clker.com, n.d. Web. 22 Mar. 2013.

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