There are no Iraquis

There are no Iraquis, no Israelis, no Koreans, no Palestenians, no Chinese, no Americans, no Indonesians, no British. There are only people.

There is only a woman, pressing her hands over the hole in her husband's chest, praying that she can press down hard enough, that her hands can make the blood go back in. Screaming and whispering to herself that this is not real; that this has not happened, that she can go back to worrying about how they are going to plow the field with only one ox, how she can afford to make a chicken dinner for her family once a week, which gas station has the lowest price for regular unleaded.

There is only a boy; standing with a gun and a helmet that is too big for him. Frozen. Terrified. Not understanding. A boy thrown in the back of a truck and told that he would die for his country; that he was in the army now. Given just enough of a speech to keep him from running away and to feel like being a soldier meant being a man.



Thats all there is.