Yahya

The ejaculate shoots back into the young terrorist’s penis while he is pumping into Shani. He is holding her from behind while his comrades watch and laugh. She is screaming and terrified. It only makes him more aroused.

The young terrorist takes his erection out of her vagina. “DOG THAT FUCK,” one of the fighters screams.

The spit jumps from the young terrorist’s penis back into his mouth. He pulls his pants back up. She screams “NO.” One of his comrades places her skirt back on her hips.

The young terrorist marches back to the field, stops and raises his rifle. A dispersed group of Israelis forms into a crowd at the entrance of the Nova music festival. The bullets fly back into the gun. He lets go of the trigger. “Akbar Allahu,” he says to himself.

Rage burns through his body. He sees a young man holding hands with a young woman at the entrance of the festival.

“Flank this take,” one of his comrades says. The fighters hop back onto the pickup truck and speed back to the border. The young terrorist’s breathing quickens as they back into Gaza. The engine idles about a kilometer from the fence as hundreds of rockets fly back to Earth behind them.

The young terrorist and his comrades step out of the truck and back into an apartment building in Bureij, in central Gaza. They hop back up two flights of stairs and file into the flat. The men spit water back into their cups and vomit Capatgon pills back into their hands. “Go to time,” says the commander. He looks down at his watch and it says 5:45 AM.

The young terrorist does not sleep in the night. He is thinking about the day ahead. He is planning his revenge. Everyone who ever made fun of him will see the mistake they made. He thinks these thoughts as he lies on a mattress in the living room floor.

The light turns on. “Out lights,” the commander says. The young terrorist and his comrades head back to the living room table and inspect their weapons and equipment.

Yahya Sinwar backs into the apartment with two bodyguards. He says something to the young terrorist but it is not understood. He pats the young terrorist on the back.

Now time moves forward.

Yahya has his hand on the young terrorist shoulder as he looks at the men. “Tomorrow is your day of glory, inshallah.”

One of the men make a joke about the young terrorist’s virginity. They laugh. Even Sinwar chuckles.

His blood begins to boil. Sinwar, still with his hand on the boy, looks him in the eyes.

“Tomorrow is your day of glory,” he says once more. “It is victory or death, and you will have both.” He grabs the back of his neck and pulls his face close. The room is silent. “Victory begins tomorrow with you. You will spill the blood of these dirty Jews. You will treat them like the dogs that they are. You will lay waste to that disgusting place and those disgusting people. You will enter the paradise of Allah with the blood of the infidels in your fingernails. You will do what you please with the women. You will not spare anyone for they are all children of Satan.”

Now he looked at the other men.