Colonel Hafetz strode purposefully down the hall of the Knesset. He gripped the attaché case firmly and braced himself for his meeting. A quick reveal of his ID causes one of two guards stationed to open the door and announce:
'Mr. Prime Minister, Colonel Hafetz.'
Colonel Hafetz enters and a silent Prime Minister gestures him to sit. The Colonel places the silver case on the desk, unlocks it and turns it to face the Prime Minister.
'Mr. Prime Minister, I would prefer you to read it.'
The usually confident Colonel set his gaze upon the desk. The Prime Minister hesitated, then said;
He opened the case and pulled out its only contents: a folder marked
CLASSIFIED: PRIME MINISTER ONLY
He began to read.
West Bank Incident #33217 August 14, 2008
Transcript of Interrogation of
Grant Moore, lead suspect by
Agent Bevin, Chief Interrogator, Mossad
Bevin: Mr. Moore, do you know why you're here?
Moore: Ummm, not really.
Bevin: Not really. Well, were you really in the West Bank on August 14, 2008?
Moore: Uhh, yeah.
Bevin: Yes, you were. Now we're getting somewhere. Your memory is clearing. Perhaps you can also remember a little about the incident that led to 3 days of bloodshed, over 400 deaths, 1200 injuries and nearly $5,000,000 in damage?
Moore: Uh, O.K. What do you want to know?
Bevin: What do I want to know? What do I want to know? Who the fuck is this guy? Who are you? Who do you work for?
Moore: I'm self -employed.
Bevin: Oh, you are telling me you came up with this whole thing by yourself: finances, planning, execution ...do you take us for fools? I have little patience for games, Mr. Moore. Perhaps you need us to convince you to loosen your tongue.
Moore: Hold on here! I think we have a big misunderstanding here. Financing, planning, do you think I'm a terrorist? Damn, I was just shopping at the shouk.
Bevin: Shopping at the shouk? Do you expect me to believe that? We have you on camera running from the scene waving your arms in the direction of the uprising and inciting violence by calling out to join in the melee.
Moore: NO! NO! NO! I wasn't screaming 'JOIN', I was screaming 'RUN'. And I wasn't pointing, I was flailing ... it ... it wasn't my best moment. The whole thing just got out of control.
Bevin: Why don't you explain what happened?
Moore: I was shopping in the shouk when I saw a miniature hookah that I liked. Ahmed, I think that was his name, asked me if I wished to purchase. I asked him how much. He said $80. I said he had to be kidding and offered him $5. He said he was insulted and told me to stop jewing him down. I said that only thing that was going down was his mom on a goat.
Bevin: And that's when the violence started?
Moore: No. That's just the usual banter. We traded prices and barbs. He said my nose sucked in all the air and made it hard to breathe and I said that I was doing the others a favor by saving them from his stench.
Bevin: Then? Then the violence?
Moore: No, we were still bartering.
Bevin: When exactly did the violence start?
Moore: I was just about to buy the hookah for $6 when I realized that I had an extra shirt on. It was hot so I took it off. His eyes went wide and he pointed to my shirt and screamed 'RED SOX! Fuck you!'
He pulled back his robe and had a Yankees shirt on underneath. He screamed 'Youkalis is a fag!' My reaction was automatic. Ass-Rod can't catch a fucking ball! Then he called me a Fenway Fag. I called him a Yank-me fan. Then he says 'Yankees: 25 Championships ... Red Sox ... 2 ... they have none of these!'
With that, he grabs his crotch, pulls his balls back till they disappear, and starts parading around with his hand doing the limp wrist thing. Listen, I can put up with a lot but there are some things you just don't do. There no fucking way was I letting that asshat get away with that.
Red Sox hate the Yankees. Yankees hate the Red Sox. It goes back to our grandfathers. But over the line is over the line. I took the hookah and cracked him over the head with it. Then fans from both teams came out of the woodwork, putting on hats or t-shirts and taking sides.
Taunts turned to pushing. Pushing turned to punches, knives came out and someone set a tent on fire. Then an Uzi was fired, and another, and another. It just got out of control from there. That's when I took off.
Transcriber Note:over a minute of silence occurs
Bevin: Then what did you do?
Moore: I went back to my hotel, ate a light snack, and checked the score of the Sox game.
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Summertime By Julie Hines
The curtains of early darkness are drawn back for summer.
Gardens become beautiful this time of year.
Contrast of flowing colour. The fragrances of the pink Fuchsias draped in deep purple emphasizing their elegance. The Stock has a powerful aroma. Yellow Marigolds resembling regimented soldiers.
Placing the bulbs into her basket, she made her purchase.
Fiction - Fiend By Jarrett
It happened when I was only seven. They let their eyes off of me for only a moment and he snatched me away. I never saw them again. They are the only ones I ever loved. In fact, it was so long ago I don't even remember how it feels, and to be honest I don't want to; I'm sure it will only bring pain.
I don't know why he did it. I'll never fully understand why he did, but I've come close. I guess like me he yearned for that same feeling so many people take for granted, love.
Fiction - Leonard By Frankie Lassut
Ring ring, Ring ring ...
Leonard smiled, and tubbed his hands together. He picked up the phone, and went into voluntary professional mode:
'I've got nothing to live for. The credit card companies are threatening to take my house away to
pay my bills, which they have piled the interest on.
My wife got fed up of it and left with my children, and my firm has collapsed.
I don't know what to do.
Fiction - One All By Mike Watts
The knock on the door sounded official; usually callers just pressed the bell, but this morning, they didn't...
Dean's heart rate moved up a notch.
'Who the fuck's that?'
He stood up from the chair that he was slouched in and walked over to the window.
Parting the curtains slightly, he observed two powerfully built characters standing there.
One was holding a clip-board; his sleeveless arms were loaded with tattoos
Fiction - The Dance Of The Pheasodile By Tim Roux
I have to admit that I am in a bit of a predicament.
I have regained consciousness to discover myself swinging upside down outside the plate glass window that wraps around the lawyers' office where my wife works - where she is a partner, in fact. I am bumping up against the pane as I dangle here. I can see several of the office staff taking pictures of me with their mobile phones, and feverishly distributing them somewhere over the ether.
Fiction - Conversation By Scott Rorrison
Rome! Have you ever seen the Colosseum? Beautiful isn't it; how strange it is that things of immense beauty contain contrasting qualities. From the outside tourists marvel at the grand scale and arresting architecture, it is ideal for a photograph or postcard. Step inside, though, and a whole complexity of emotions will haunt the senses. Stand on the arena floor and wonder how many men and women have followed your steps into oblivion.
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - The Mother From Hell (following on from A Depressive and a Botched Suicide) By Laura Fry
Outside, a woman in late middle-age tries to look through the large crematorium doors.
Despite the November wind, she is dressed in six-inch stilettos, thin stockings and a tiny mini skirt which leaves nothing to the imagination.
One mourner hears a sound over the music and makes her way outside, aghast.
Fiction - Loved Ones By Emma Williamson
I remember the day my mother and father split up. All the family had gone out for the day with our parent's friends, Claire and Craig and their two daughters, Lauren and Molly. Me and my two younger brothers, Jasper and Cohen were in the ball pit with Lauren and Molly.
'Silver, drink!' Jasper announced, he was only 3 years old and hadn't quite grasped the concept of full sentences yet.
Fiction - What Colour My Dear? (Exercise in experimenting with different voices)
By Michelle Dee
"What colour my dear?"
"Blue. Yes blue to match my mood."
"Why so blue dear on such a promising day?"
"Well I'll tell you. I have just this moment been turned down yet again for employment; that is the third this morning if you please. I am doomed never to find a suitable position.
Fiction - Replacing Sheila By Gary Clark
She was a sorry sight Sheila, sat all day in a corner of the room, moving only occasionally to look through the window when the front gate rattled or a car door slammed.
But it was never him and her watery eyes soon closed again, sadly, as she returned to her fitful dozing. Old age takes its toll on us all eventually.
Poor Shelia, cast aside like an old
Fiction - Equus Mal-Amour By Frankie Lassut
Every time Roger fell out with Trudy, he took it out on Selina.
Saturday nights were the worst. Roger and Trudy would go out pubbing, Selina would of course stay at home, dreading the unhappy couple returning at 12.30 - 1am.
It was always the same. Selina would hear them coming up the lane.
"Don't you fuckin deny it! I saw the way you looked at her!"
"Oh, stop being so fucking stupid!
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Sundog By Amanda Lowe
I have my yellow boots on to walk the dog who is scratting at the door, he knows it's time to go. Outside, he's running ahead like a mad thing as my yellow boots squelch flat fields, left foot, right foot.
Striding along the bank, lost in thoughts, I stop and gawp at a sundog, reflection of the sun in the sky. The sun and its doppelganger side by side, striving to outshine each other.
Fiction - The Lie of the Land By Steve Rudd
So I ran.
I ran, and I ran, and I ran.
Nothing means anything when eagerly anticipated phone calls never come.
All those wasted Sundays slumped beside the phone add up.
Ah, heartbreak. You've got to hate it. But you've also got to take it.
The hardest thing of all is resisting the urge to break the ice, to ring first,
to put words into your mouth
Fiction - Too Late To Call By Sarah Ann Watts
The bus pulls out of the station. I check my watch - I am not too late. I close my eyes, pretend to sleep.
The witching hour is yet to come. I told you I would be home by midnight. You like to know where I am. I tell you I can protect myself and you shake your head in doubt. 'Be careful. It isn't the same world.'
I laugh at your fears and paint my lips and smile.
Fiction - The Day By Danny Swain
Ray turns the CD player off as he answers the phone. The sound of waves crashing against a beach fills his ear. Jenny wipes the plate and puts it on the draining board. A man appears at the kitchen window. Benjamin pulls the car into the drive and gets out. He hears a noise in the garage.
Mary locks her front door and buttons up her coat. Read more...
Fiction - Blood in the Bath By Leah Scarpati
It was Halloween night and the weather suitably matched the mood of the evening. Like a parody of a horror film, the wind howled at forty miles per hour, blowing the dried up autumn leaves up into mini tornadoes down the deserted and dimly lit street. The odd raindrop fell from the sky, threatening to pour down but unable to carry out the threat to its full potential.
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - A Scene In Suburban Hell By Laura Fry
Nothing unusual ever happens in Sandwalsh. People don't tend to move away to pastures new. They know their neighbours, even if they are not exactly friends.
Perhaps they cry into their IKEA pillows every night, out of boredom, depression or sheer frustration, but if they do, they most definitely hide the unfortunate fact from public view. What people think is
Fiction - Career Opportunities A Joe Geraghty story
I was sat on an amplifier in the band's rehearsal room on Wincolmlee, secreted away on Bankside, a decaying industrial area of Hull. In front of me was the city's hottest band, Witham, presumably named after the area on the edge of the city centre.
Talk about a lack of imagination. From the way they were lounging around the room, I assumed I
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - The Hand that Rocked the Cradle By Lin Whitehouse
Hearing his mother's footsteps, the boy climbed out his bedroom window. They were both angry. He wanted to run away but it was a long drop and he might hurt himself.
She shouted when she saw him, sitting on the tiled roof, suddenly scared and remembering a time she had climbed out of a similar window.
He hugged his knees not wanting to look at her; she could not look away
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Resurrection By Leah Scarpati
The rhythmical drip-drip of condensation echoed around the cave. Kate couldn't see her hand in front of her face, were her eyes even open? The fall had shattered her torch as well as her ankle; as the pain continued to bite, panic rose. She couldn't feel her toes.
Hours of calling for help had been swallowed by the chasm of darkness,
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Say No More By Joe Hakim
I'm on my way to the shops. I don't see him until I nearly step on his head.
I look down at the man on the floor, and notice he's on a bike - crotch on seat, feet on pedals, hands on handlebar. Like he's been zapped by a super-villain's freeze ray and toppled over.
I look around to make sure it isn't some kind of prank.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he replies.