I awake early to the sweet sounds of the tropic birds singing a soft tone. Their melodic chirping always compliments the splendor of the bright amber sunrise. I swing my legs from beneath me and stand up. I stretch my arms out. My wife whose beauty conflicted that of Aphrodite, is already awake and downstairs brewing me an impeccable cup of black coffee. I begin striding down the stairs. The aromatic smell of freshly roasted beans gets stronger with each footstep. As I pull my chair out and begin planting myself in it my other half gracefully sets a full mug opposite of me. I politely ask Akiva, my wife to turn the television to the channel 2 news. In Israel it seems to be commonplace to see that someone has been brutally murdered in Jerusalem by …show more content…
Taught that they steal our land and resources. That they pillaged our communities and were a threat to all of Israel. I think that this 'truth' I was told was the critical factor in my dream to become a police officer. Now some forty years since I first daydreamed about keeping the streets safe, I sit in my 1995 matte black Ford F-150 on my way to my office; that office being at the district police command center. As my engine rumbles idle while stuck in the congested streets of Mishkenot Sha’ananim my phone buzzes again and again in my pocket. In my ear a disturbed voice tells me "It was a bus this time." During the early 2000's attacks on buses were routine but this was the first in nearly a decade. As I arrive at the horrific scene a nauseating odor of scorched rubber consumes my nostrils. I am then briefed by a young sergeant I had never seen before. The bomber boarded the bus and sat right above the fuel tank, when he detonated the explosive device he engulfed the whole bus in flames. He was mortally wounded in the blast. I felt no sympathy for his actions. He had brutally murdered twenty of my fellow Israelis and injured 12, one