enter Libya

Tarik Ak-Mukmarab awoke, conscious of the smell of breakfast and twisted metal. It seemed almost sulfurous. His brother Sayeed realized he had just woken and gave him a casual glance, then continued his task of cleaning the rifles. They would be on the move during the twilight hours. Unlike Sayeed, who never slept, Tarik had been forced to at the latest and earliest hours. He could hear a shot or so off in the distance, but it was nothing to worry about. They had been evading looters, this including anyone in the mob of masses blindly fighting for whichever emotion suited their nameless agenda. Tarik poured himself tea and stretched. He and his brother had not slept in a bed for days. Peered outside their makeshift encampment, he could hear the cursing and laughter of rebels all around them. They were like ants, one following the next, each assigned to its own collective task. After witnessing the air strikes, the brothers knew who would be the victor. They would begin their trek to Egypt, hopefully finding a caravan or a driver. Westerners often just sped past them, so the likelihood of finding one of their own leaving the country was slim. They would have to cross the border - perhaps even play some tricks like old times. Sayeed told him their uncle had stopped by during the night and left enough rations for five meals. He brought news from their mother, who was safe, someplace Gaddafi would not think to send his tanks - after all, he was now on the defensive - but the anarchists who ran around like bandits, they mattered. Tarik wiped his runny nose and contemplated the hours to come - those sand-drop minutes of waiting. And the shameful pilgrimage they would make at night, leaving behind everything - which isn't saying much. Where is uncle now, Tarik asked his brother. The brother shook his head. Dead, he asked. No. He will be back. He is careful enough, Sayeed offered, waiting. Waiting all the same, only for something to happen

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I had promised to myself that I would write something on Libya or Japan. It seems like something everyone needs to express.