FEATURED STORY
M.I.N.D. Strike
by Ronald T. Jones
Abdul Walid found himself somewhere in Afghanistan not knowing how he got there, when he arrived or how long he’d been in the
country. From the backpack he wore and the AK 47 strapped over his right shoulder, he had obviously been on a journey. Aches and pains
from the rigors of that journey wrapped his body in a throbbing shawl of fatigue. He needed to rest. By the will of Allah, he desperately
needed rest.
The landscape was a bleak sprawl of rugged hills as far as his eye could travel. Hills coated in every conceivable shade of gray, like everything else in this jagged, devilish corner of existence…including the people.
This backward nation was not exactly Walid’s choice of venue for doing Allah’s work. Nonetheless, his superiors assigned him here for
that very purpose.
Walid plopped down on a patch of hard ground close to the summit of a hill he was negotiating. He had already walked himself ragged
and for the life of him he could not remember anything recent beyond the past two minutes. It was if he had been asleep on his feet and just
woke up. Of course he knew who he was and why he was in Afghanistan to begin with. He remembered every other aspect of his life. He
knew his family, his friends…
***
Abdul awoke to darkness. A bitterly chill wind accosted him like a slap to the face. He realized he was walking and stopped. How could
this be? He turned in place, squinting his eyes to adjust them to pitch-blackness. Bright stars speckled a clear night sky. On any other occasion he would have been dazzled by their radiance. Instead, he stood motionless, dumbfounded by the surrounding night, when his last
cogent memory was of him resting on a hilltop during midday.
I don’t understand. Abdul lowered to his knees, more tired than he was hours earlier…however many hours had passed.
His lungs felt seared from his exertion, his legs heavy as blocks of concrete. He would rest just long enough to rejuvenate…drink water
from the plastic bottle in his pack…snack on rations…prayer…he didn’t remember doing his evening prayer. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t.
When in doubt.
Walid set his food aside, looking every which way to get his bearings. He needed to face East. Had he ever been any good at reading the
stars?
***
Daytime. Wahid averted his eyes from a sun that suddenly appe