The mop handle might as well have been super glued together. What a crappy closet. They locked me. Inside a utility closet. There was a sink-thing in the ground that was basically a baseball sized-hole, and there were some cleaning supplies. Everything in this country was either from the Bible or duct taped back to life. Like how come these people didn’t just buy new stuff? The mop handle was literally broken in two places, taped, and screwed back together. Like, poorly screwed back together. It was amazing what this place had to offer.

Without a doubt, this was the worst room out of all the rooms I’d ever been in. Ever.

It was also the first real chance I had to look at what the hell happened to me. One second I was a billionaire, then I suddenly had a gun in my face, then I was locked in a closet—with the world’s grossest drain in the middle of the room. I swear, someone had taken a shit in there. Definitely some gross stains around the rim.

Things could be worse. They were worse for Big Ass and Beardo. When we got back to the Jankio Shack, they pretty much kicked me out of the car. They were going to make a run for it, but the king came out with a couple of guards. Beardo and Big Ass were kind of surrounded. Not really. They could have driven off. They didn’t though. The king wouldn’t look at me. I wondered if I’d done something wrong. He just whispered to one of his guards, a beefy brown dude, and pointed toward me. The dude approached, took my gun, and prompted me inside the Jankio Shack. As I started to walk in, the king uttered some rapid-fire Arabic.

And then, I ended up in this awesome closet.

Before too long, per usual, the king opened the door. His demeanor didn’t change. Stiffly, he said, “Yullah.” That’s what Big Ass said and I almost got killed. Just thinking about those thwacks of the sniper bullets made me shiver down to my ankles.

The king led me to another hallway. This building felt like it had tentacles. Maybe someday I’d understand it… but honestly, it was a pretty shitty building. The king sauntered. He had a guard with him, and his golden gun shined from his hip. He walked with his hand constantly near his gun, I noticed. Always. We swiveled through the building, and then we were outside, and around the “back” of the building. It was hard to imagine there was a back to such a blatantly 2-dimensional shack.

There were a lot of people outside. All of them had guns. They also all seemed tense. When I came outside, they were all, and I mean all, staring right at me. Plenty of kids. Like kids my age. Dinky looking kids, tall kids, short kids. Normal kids. On kid pulled out a phone and took a snapshot of me. All of them had either badass military fatigues or generic soccer jerseys. Man, these people liked soccer. As the king walked, with power he parted the sea of ISIS fighters. I walked behind him, and we reached the center of the gathering.

Beardo and Big Ass were both shirtless, shoeless, and digging. I giggled cause Big Ass had the funniest boobs I’d ever seen. The nipple was comically too big for the titty. I thought my pepperoni nips were bad, but I guess it goes to show you: no matter how bad you look, there’s always someone who looks worse. Beardo was scrawnier than I thought, with xylophone ribs. Now he was working, vigorously digging. Big Ass was wiggling and complaining in Arabic. Get back to shoveling, Big Ass. Stop making Beardo do all the work.

The king stood fast. He watched them dig, unamused. I looked up at him with my giggles, and then saw his example. It shut me up. This wasn’t a laughing matter. I cut it out. We all watched in silence as Big Ass protested, and Beardo dug, and dug, and dug.

Beardo was winning the digging contest. He was at least 3 feet deeper than Big Ass. I looked around. There was one kid, with an ammo belt bigger than he was, who wasn’t paying attention. He was out in space somewhere. He was looking into the clouds. This kid had a pistol in his hand, well in both hands. The gun was enormous under his 10 fingers. I’d never seen this kind of gun before. It looked like a Frankenstein. Like, this gun could have had parts from 10 guns in it. It might have. I mean, they screw broom handles back together here. They probably recycled guns too. Why not. Then, this little kid snapped out of it, looked up at an adult, and paid attention. I wondered how long he was in ISIS. Had he killed anyone?

Beardo got deeper, and deeper. Big Ass was still whining. The king grabbed his golden gun. He pointed and clicked and… thwack. Beardo fell into the hole. My stomach jumped. I wasn’t expecting that one. Big Ass shut up. His eyes were moon-sized. The king stepped over and put his boots on Big Ass’s face and pushed him over into the grave. Guess what he fell on?

The king then erupted into a speech. He shouted and pointed at Big Ass. It seemed threatening, but I didn’t know what he was saying. Then he started addressing his men… and the kids. He was not pleased, but damn was he powerful. I was into it. First of all, screw these guys. They tried to shoot me. Tough. Shoulda, coulda woulda killed Hefty.

Big Ass was now covering up the limp body of Beardo. The soil was bone dry. Dust started to stick to Big Ass’s stomach. He was moaning now, in Arabic. I wish I could have known what he was saying.

The king riffled on. He was doing plenty of phlegmy words. Everyone was into it, I think. Then he said “Hefty” and pointed at me. He said some more things I could make out, like “PITcoin”, and “BILlion”, and “InterNet”. Whatever his speech was about, I was into it, and then, he came over to me.

Every eye turned to me, and the king held his golden gun. He handed it to me. “Take,” he said. I got flashbacks to 8th grade, having to read in front of the class. I took the gun. I didn’t wanna disappoint after that speech. It was huge. I didn’t have small hands, but I could barely hold it.

The king then turned to Big Ass and made a gun gesture with his hand. He followed it with a, “pew pew,” like from before. It wasn’t as funny now. Now that I had the gun. And I was pointing it at Big Ass. A dusty, pathetic Big Ass. Who was pleading for his life in Arabic.

Everything zoned out, and my legs felt like spaghetti. It was Flow… but not in a good way. It felt like I might pass out. The whole place got blurry. Big Ass was looking at me, yelling at the king, digging, begging to those around him. I could see less and less, and my ears started ringing. I was gonna cry. There were tears in my eyes. straight-up-fear tears.

I heard “Hefty” through the ringing. My heart was making music; thumping like the bass boom of a crappy car stereo system. There it was again, someone yelling “Hefty” like they were all the way down the opposite end of a long tunnel. It kind of sounded like my dad saying it. Dad never called me Hefty. Then I felt a tug on my elbow.

I snapped back. There were the eyes of Big Ass, right in front of me. They were pleading eyes. Dirty eyes. Hateful eyes. He was tired, and he was dusty… and I didn’t want to kill him, but he also wanted me dead. I lifted the gun. Big Ass closed his eyes and flinched. I pulled the trigger. The gun exploded out of my hand. It hurt. The bullet connected. It got Big Ass clean through his giant gut. He dropped, wailing.

I caused that. Oh fuck.

Cheers rang out all around me, and the soldiers fired their guns into the air. The king grabbed my shoulders. “HaBiBi!” he yelled in my face and shook me. I was a hero. Big Ass was still wailing, and then the kids approached. As they walked, they unloaded on him. It was like watching an evil kindergarten at play. Big Ass flinched trying to repel the bullets.

I felt strangely alive. They tore him to pieces, inside his open grave. Then the little kid, the one with the gun way too big for him, came up to me. He passed me his gun. It was a little more manageable. I could actually hold this one. He smiled at me, and then jumped toward Big Ass’s body and started going, “pew-pew-pew” violently. I got really excited. I… wanted more. I started doing that too, pew-pew-pew, only in real life. Every shot I took opened a new hole in Big Ass’s body. It wasn’t quite like the movies. No huge explosions really, just small holes and pops of blood.

The king picked me up, then quickly realized how much I weighed. He dropped me, nicely, and screamed, “Wallah d’b HEFTY.” The crowd cheered.

And then the party started.

It got out of hand quickly.

For one thing, ISIS needed new speakers. The king sent some troops into the Jankio Shack. The soldiers behind us kids started to come in and finish the digging. My lungs were killing me. Like right above my stomach. My breathing felt bruised.

The kids instantly started grabbing onto my legs. Before I knew it, the little ISISites jumped my ass. I fell and started pushing them off. It was like a World Cup goal celebration or some shit.

I kicked ’em off, then they helped me up. Next, the men came over. This BIG dude showed up next to me. He gave me one heavy ass handshake with one hell of a straight-laced look from his unibrow-lookin’ eyes. The handshake just kept going on. I could hear a drum coming from outside, and everyone was cheering. Like all these people were just happy as hell to be alive.

In America, everyone’s always depressed. This was a whole different type of world. There were speakers out, then they started to play their music. And what a weird-assed beat they had. First of all, the music was echoey as shit, with like super out-of-tune guitars. The vocals were just, like, chanting.

It didn’t matter. The men started moving their feet.

The kids started moving their feet.

It was hard not to join them, so I did. I turned and started moving my feet.

Stomping.

Left

and Right.

This is awesome.

We moved our hands as the King continued to yell through the mic. I didn’t have a clue what was saying, but I heard, “Yullah,” and “Habibi,” and “Hefty.”

Then two people came out from behind me and grabbed my arms. Inside, I was nervous, but I just let it happen. I was used to their hands pressing into my arms. It finally didn’t hurt.

They dragged me in front of the king, as he spoke into the microphone, “Islam. Mean surrender.” He looked at me as he said this, and silence came over the whole place. I guessed he was talking to me.

“Okay,” I replied. I was aware.

“No. Hefty,” he looked dead ass, “Word. Islam. Word. Islam. Mean Surrender.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

“Say. Surrender,” he demanded, pointing the microphone at me. His bushy eyebrows were pinched so close to each other, dude looked like unibrow-man, and his eyes were pointed. Pointy. “Islam mean surrender.”

This fucking dude never lets up, I thought.

“Islam is the true religion.” Damn, king, that was good English. “One God True. Alone… worshib he-be.” meh. “Adem. Ibrahim. Nuh. Adnan. Abdullah… Issa” then he stopped, like I’d know the last one.

“MUHAMMAD! Allahu Akbah.” The guys and the kids all recited the same thing, cooly.

“King come to. No no no. King is Muhammad and come hea… ve… No no no.” He started to weasel out. His English sucked. “To good Myslim, it good have you in…”

It was getting sad. Throw in the towel bro, your English is a train wreck.

And then this dumbass just stepped right past me. He knocked my head and I stutter-stepped and looked like the biggest idiot. And the king just went at it, rapid fire Arabic at these ISIS fucks. He went off like a preacher, and everyone bought it.

I must have heard “Allahu akbar” ten thousand times.

Then the king said something big and everyone shut up. He comes back at me. “Hefty… You surrender Allah? And Muhammad?” His eyes were on fire.

. Everyone got kind of quiet. The music died. They all watched me.

I had to think about it. “Umm.”

I mean it seems like the right choice at the time.

“Yea.” I said. “actually… yea. Yes. This is great.” I got to kill my enemies.

Dude, I just fucking executed someone. I kind of forgot with the whole music and weird speech. WHAT THE FUCK!!! I just fucking killed a dude.

I’m a fucking badass…

I’m. a. Fucking. badass.

“Let’s do it!!!” I yelled, lifting my hands. EVERYONE (and I mean Everyone) LIT UP!

Even the King was off his feet. “Okay okay. Habibi. Say… You. Must. You must say.”

“Say?I say...what?” I started swinging my hands, up and down, juggling imaginary balls saying “what do you mean?”.

“Yes yes. Say.”

“Say… like, talk?”

“Yes aHH talk! Talk you these words: La ilaha illa Alla—"

“Well, no, then it should be, ‘You-say-these-words’,” I interrupted.

“Yes. You SAY these words, yes?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Say: La ilaha illa Allah, Muhammad rasoolu Allah. say. You.” The king pointed at me.

I tried. “La illama llallah.”

“No no no… La.” then he put his hand up in a stop sign. “La…”

“ilaha” ^

“ilaha”

“illa… All-AH”^

“illa… All-AH”

“Muhammad Rah-sool All-AH.”

“Muhammad ha-sha-vsh-oo-oul. All-AH.”

The king looked at me kinda funny. He hesitated. Like for a SPLIT second. Like I mispronounced his words, which was clearly some kinda sin when he totally butchered my language.

Like FUCK you dude, you destroyed my language.

Then the king turned and said something in Arabic, and everyone started shooting their rifles in the air. And that place got WILD. The music blasted up again, and everyone was cheering. And that was it; that was all it took. It seem like it was too easy. And loud.

They were PACKING a PUNCH, shooting guns into the air.

Without much warning, they were setting up a bunch of crap to burn. An all eternal fire. Over the sandy, shallow grave of the man I’d just murdered. Blew out his stomach. Blew little holes all over his stupid, fat-titted ass… well… I guess, I’m a soldier now. A muslim soldier. Is that bad?

“There much for you here,” the king shouted into my ear, and that was the last time I heard him speak English to me that night. Basically, no one there spoke a word of English to me.

They lit the fire with oil, and before too long, I saw a blaze, and I saw music.

And I danced.

My.

Ass.

Off.

I didn’t even puke that time.

We danced around the fire in these epic circles. The boys started to grab each other at the shoulders. They stomped in a circle, then they got on their knees. Then they stomped their knees. It was impressive, so I dabbed them. They weren’t into it at first, but I taught them good and they eventually got the hang of it. These guys had no idea how to do anything. I had to put some more attitude into their handshakes and everything.

I even got the adults on it too. This one dude came up, pointing and saying, “ismeziyad. ismezeyad.” He had a crazy head of hair. It was like a hi-top but cooler. He was so happy to get to know me. I could feel the love as he shook my hand. This dude was cool. I wanted to get to know him, and then as soon as I shook his hand, I dabbed. He started to do it, but he didn’t quite get it. Then he did it to his friends, cheering and laughing. They all followed suit.

Zeyad, and frankly all the adults, couldn’t get enough of me. These guys were speaking to me from their hearts.

And they were tough sons of bitches. I could see the war in them. Their faces weren’t like the kids. They had darker circles around their sunken eyes. Like skeleton eyes.

The music changed and then I heard it. A goat, coming in dragged by a rope. Scared shitless. Aw man. This party was nuts. They brought their animals. This thing was hilarious. Its eyes made it look like a total dope.

Then the king came up behind me and pulled up a jagged knife. It was pretty nice. And it wasn’t new, but it was a hard-fucking-core knife.

“Hefti,” he said, giving the neck slice sign language.

Oh… shit. He wanted me to kill the goat.

…Sucks to suck.

I approached it, fresh blade in hand. And then I stalled. What the fuck do I do?

“What do I do?” I said to the crowd. Everyone was shouting. They were doing sign language too. “What the fuck do I do,” I tried again, and everyone just screamed and started throwing shit at me, doing the cutthroat-finger thing. “Al-RIGHT already, shut the fuck up, I’ve never done this before, you fucking animals.”

I stood above the goat. It was spooked, but now because of me. Sorry little dude, but your ass it toast. Come here. Come here. Come.. come HERE you little fucker. Stop it, I don’t want this either, stop it, STOP IT--- there you go. thereyougo. There you… there… you… there you go. That wasn’t too bad.

Touchdown. That’s what it felt like. Touchdown at a Browns game. The guys may have been terrible at English, but they were fast at setting up. I was already seeing grills being set up by the fire. You’re gonna be one good meal, lil’ guy. And I. am. hungry.

My hands came out from underneath the animal’s throat. Pasted in red, metallic paint. It had to be red paint. It just had to.

But everyone cheered. Men ripped the goat’s legs from under me and started draining the animal of the red paint… so it was alright.

Finally, I think everything is going to be alright.