It was approximately 2:30 a.m.; I must have dozed off for an hour or so. The little set was still on. After the brief ad break, the news showed the aftermath of this selective global catastrophe. At the Los Angeles bombing, part of the clip that received global notoriety was that of me. It showed me as I picked up a fragment of Professor Edmond’s skull, and clutched it to my chest, screaming, “You bastards, you’ll pay for this.” The correspondent added, “This is not the only person who has voiced such reprisals against the terrorists. There seems to be a growing number of people who vehemently feel that a no tolerance campaign should be mounted against the terrorists.” I wasn’t heralded as a hero, but painted more of a casualty, a victim of this bloodied war. However, I took courage from the words of the correspondent. The awards night that was followed by the concert all dissipated into a night that terrorism ran supreme. During a period of twelve hours the freedom we enjoyed in the West was cruelly stripped from us. I felt violated as if the entire West had been raped by the Muslim extremists. A deadly brigade of suicide bombers began the slaughter of the innocent masses, at 3:00 a.m. GMT. At the end of that attack there were thousands of bodies; mainly body parts sprawled across the west, for the satisfaction of those human vultures. Among the dead were countless children, three-quarters of the senior year journalist class at UCLA, Professor Edmonds and scores of other precious people. This massacre carried with it the domino effect; each of the dead left behind loved one(s) to grieve the rest of their lives. Those that were injured like me, had the additional reminder of being injured; many injuries were severe which often resulted in disabilities. Those individuals would be suffering, but their families would also be greatly affected. My doctor refused the media access to me unless it was Time Magazine, my employer. I needed rest after this entire ordeal. Furthermore, the prognosis regarding my left leg didn’t exactly look very promising. There was discussion that my left leg needed to be amputated from the knee down. Initially, I was devastated by the news, but as Carol, my wife told me, that I was lucky to be alive. I was very fortunate not to be killed. I could still enjoy my family, Carol and my two boys, Brad who was six and Dean who was nearly five. I contacted Carol during the time that I was at the ER. It didn’t take long for Carol and the boys to arrive. Although it was chaotic, they searched the corridors until they found me. I remember the exuberance I felt when I caught a glimpse of them. Their faces shone from delight as I hugged them, I realized how fortunate I was to be alive. I will never forget Carol’s face, especially her eyes when she first saw me. Her relief, as she held me and wept from the stress and all of the emotions brought upon us all. “I was so scared darling,” she smiled as she kissed me. The boys had climbed unto my bed, hugging me tightly so as I would not go away. I felt like one of the luckiest men alive. Concurrently, my heart was burdened, knowing that so many people were grieving for the loss of their loved ones. This devastation served no purpose. Why were they punishing the west? Carol realized that I had shivered, so she asked, ”Honey, are you cold?” “No”, I sighed. I feel like I’ve just jumped out of the spin dry cycle. She smiled, “I love you,” she kissed me for the hundredth time. Tears filled my eyes. The nurse came and gave me my painkillers and other medication. I reached out to switch off the television to forget this nightmare. However, I felt compelled to keep the set on, as if I was sacrilegious by turning it off. Every story emphasized the human tragedy of these senseless bombings. At the conclusion of each story I felt a mounting rage building inside the core of my being. I could visualize these thugs, slapping each other silly on their backs. Congratulating each other with an evil grin of satisfaction plastered on their faces. That imagery infuriated me, but I had to be wise and be patient.  Although exhausted it was the speech from the British Prime Minister that made me, as an individual responsible to fight terrorism. “We need to seek out these individuals. Gone are the days of innocence. We must be united, having a common purpose, to bring this carnage to a halt. Whatever your religion; whether you are a Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Jew or of another faith, we must all be united. All of our religions believe in peace and goodwill to our fellow human beings. No religion condones murder. Those of you that are Muslim, you must fight for they are destroying what you represent. They are imposters who are creating racism against you. They say they are doing everything in the name of Islam, but they have strayed, giving into a band of self-serving thugs. They have greatly damaged your reputation. How can you blame others outside your faith who through the lack of knowledge built up a barrier between our faiths? The only way to help your cause and ours alongside is to denounce their actions and deliver them to the appropriate authorities. These leaders of terrorism are bullies who have exposed every Muslim making them scapegoats, while they hide like true cowards and continue their reign of terror on the innocent people, especially children. Those of you who call yourselves followers of Islam must stand up against these mindless carnivores of humanity. Their behavior has caused insurmountable racial hatred targeted against you. Indeed these terrorist have a hidden agenda. They are not fundamentalist but rather egotistic heretics who prey on the vulnerable. Let’s all be diligent to stop this beast from ever hurting us again. May God be with us all.” The British Prime Minister was absolutely correct with his assessment. That wasn’t simply food for thought, but rather my mind had a five-course meal. Carol just mouthed the word, “Wow!” The boys were exhausted so their grandfather came and picked them up. Although Dean the youngest wanted his mother to join them, Carol reminded the boys of grandma’s chocolate chip cookies. They both said, “Yippee!” Carol stayed with me for the night. The nursing staff provided a small fold out bed. I was glad that she stayed, for I needed her emotional support. It was 7:00 a.m., November 10. My doctor’s prognosis was grim. In brief, my left leg sustained severe irreparable damage. This meant that my leg needed to be amputated. I was distraught. Theory is one thing, but the reality was that these “mindless thugs” placed me on the disabled list. A prosthesis would no doubt help me, but nothing replaces the real thing. Carol was in tears, for she could feel my anguish. She said with a voice of sorrow, “Darling, this doesn’t change a thing. You are who you are, with or without your leg. I love you.” We kissed.  I asked my doctor, “When will you operate?” he quickly replied, “Later in the morning, otherwise your infected leg may become life-threatening.” The only thing that came out of my mouth was, “Oh”! The following speech was from the White House front lawn from the President of the United States of America. I thought that it was odd that he chose the front lawn of the White House. The usual course of action was to address the nation from the Oval Office. I was only half listening to this broadcast for I was still preoccupied, attempting to come to terms with my own problems. “This atrocity that was foisted upon us is an act of war. This day will not go by without retaliatory action taking place. They say that they are a faceless enemy, but I can assure the American people and all of the western world, who believe in democracy, that we know enough about them to cause them significant damage and by doing so, put them out of action permanently. I stand by my previous commitment that my administration will do everything in its power to get rid of this vermin from amongst us. My administration’s aim will not rest until the very last terrorist has been neutralized. We must stop these barbarians from mounting such a despicable act of cowardice ever again. We must unite in our common cause to rid the world of this monster of terrorism that has plagued our western world. We must exterminate these sadistic bullies from hurting so many, for so long. (Applause) Our children are our legacy, yet these mindless suicide bombers and especially their leaders who have sought to destroy our very future, our destinies. We will never forgive the perpetrators of this atrocity. Instead, we will hold them eternally responsible and act swiftly to eradicate this disease, this cancer that’s in our midst.” (Applause)… God Bless America…”      There was something terribly abnormal about the way the President concluded his speech. There was an unusual amount of background noise. The camera focused on an Army truck outside Pennsylvania Avenue, out of the back of which came eight trail motorbikes. They drove up a portable ramp and jumped into the front lawn of the White House. I screamed, “They’re after the President.” Carol gazed into my eyes in disbelief. Agents of the secret service were scrambling to protect the President and other officials. They opened fire on the eight trail motorcycles, which were approaching swiftly. Six of the eight didn’t make it any further than half way to the podium. However, two of them somehow escaped and. The Chief of Security quickly authorized the agents to use grenades, as long as it didn’t endanger the crowd and people of the media, who were quickly scattered on the opposite side of the front lawn. The frantic voice of a secret service agent could be heard, “They must be stopped, NOW!” The last part of his message was emphasized.       Another motorcycle was stopped. One of the grenades exploded on top of him. That left one last trail motorcycle. It still kept coming as the rider eluded all of the explosives thrown. It was nearly fifty yards away, near the camera crew. The rider stopped, and dismounted off the motorcycle. The secret service officers screamed “Get down on the ground, NOW! DO IT!” There were at least ten agents surrounding the cyclist. They took off the black helmet, as they saw the face of the female rider. She demanded to talk to the President. The secret service quite rightly refused, but picked her up from the ground, as they were about to take her away, the President emerged from behind the human shield of bodyguards, and asked, “What did you want to tell me?” She began screaming loudly, her dark shoulder length hair bounced as she wiggled, struggling to free herself from the grasp of the two agents on either side of her. “Praise be to Allah, for giving me this opportunity.” The president spoke to her, “What opportunity?” “To start the second wave of terror.”      The female assassin used her knowledge of the martial arts and set herself free. She sprinted toward the President, who was only about sixty yards away. The secret service went into frenzy, they shot at her. Somehow she dodged most of the bullets. She was much too close to use a grenade so the only avenue open was by an automatic weapon. Two machine guns opened fire on her; the president’s body guard stepped in front of him. The female assassin lunged forward, pushing her petite body like a torpedo and detonated the explosives. The picture went blank; there was only audio transmission available.      “What is going on?” The studio reporter, Roger Mercer, asked his colleagues at the White House. A voice could be heard amongst the chaos of screams and other loud background noise. The voice was that of a White House correspondent, Jaclyn Bishop =    “Hello, can anyone hear me?” Roger Mercer =     “Yes, we can hear you. Can you describe… the scene there?” Jaclyn Bishop =    “Roger, the scene here is bedlam. The President’s body guard has been shot. He’s not moving.” Roger Mercer =     “How’s the President?” Jaclyn Bishop =    “The President is down, repeat the President is down!” I couldn’t take it any longer all of the stress of the past twelve hours, wasn’t it enough? Why try to assassinate the President? Hasn’t enough blood been spilt in the 65 attacks from suicide bombers? The terrorist now had mounted a second wave of attack, eleven hours later.      The news broadcast was able to establish the visual link once again. The studio reporter continued the story. Roger Mercer =     “Jaclyn, hello, is there anything new on the President’s condition?” Jaclyn Bishop =    “The only thing that we know is that he is unconscious, but still alive.” For the first time in a long time I prayed. That somehow God would intervene and stop this madness. Tears were running unashamedly down my cheeks. I was looking for answers for this massacre of countless victims. What was the meaning behind it, the purpose? The words of the assassin were unfortunately true. The second and even more potent wave commenced at the White House.  It appeared that the first wave was targeted against innocent civilians. However, the second wave appeared to have a mixture of targets, with a concentration against the establishment. Trucks filled with explosives were now used to hit a wide range of public utilities. They succeeded in destroying the main grid of a New York Power Station, which threatened the power supply of the entire northeast coast of America. They attempted, but failed to poison the water supply in Brisbane, Australia. Buckingham Palace was also targeted, but agents of their intelligence services were able to stop the bomber from causing significant damage. He detonated the bomb outside killing himself and two guards. A point of interest was that moments before the blast, when he knew his mission had failed, he said to the two guards, “I cannot return, they will kill me anyway.” One can clearly see how these human pawns are used, no better than litter. In the meantime, the news regarding the President’s condition was not encouraging. According to the chief media advisor of the White House, two steel fragments were the cause for concern. One fragment penetrated his lower back, near the spine, while the other was embedded at the base of his skull. An MRI was going to be performed to determine the extent of the damage. He still remained unconscious. At the White House the heads of government were preparing for the Vice-President to be sworn in as Acting President. According to Article II, Section 1 makes the Vice President first in the line of succession. However, due to the circumstances the Vice President will obtain the interim title of “Acting President”. The reason for that distinction was because at a later date the President may recuperate and commence his duties as the President of the United States. (1) (1)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vice_President_of_the_United_States.