Michael is a Muslim
By what criteria does the end justify the means. How does an action reflect, cause or repeat the action before it? What’s the point of any of this. Michael sat in a Police holding cell and wondered about the who, why and what of his current circumstances. His wrists and head hurt.
He had been lounging about in his underwear minding his own business and watching TV when the Police burst in, breaking down each of the all ready open doors, setting off some flash explosive things and yelling. Why did they have to yell so much, Michael was already on the ground splayed out like a spatchcock on a grill offering no resistance other than the gentle nervous fart he had no control over. The Police meanwhile took no risks, they “hut – hut” it around the house, garden, garage and the dogs kennels at the back of the yard. They screamed and pointed their fabulously efficient weapons about and seemed well chuffed when they finally found Michael, who to be frank was bored with waiting and had begun calling out. “STAY WERE YOU ARE” – a less than intelligent fun stopper screamed. Yes OK, said Michael as he was handcuffed with those zip (clip) tie thingy.
The Police scooped Michael into their vehicle, naked bar his Homer Simpson boxers. The fly had opened by itself with Michael’s dick now replaced Homers face on the front graphic. No one seemed to notice or care just how graphic it was.
Mary was at work while all this law enforcement was being applied. She’d called a Government hotline that morning and stated boldly that she “knew” Michael was a terrorist, but she wasn’t sure where he had grown. Mary had no doubt, in fact she was so sure she was right she told everyone at work, both colleagues and customers that she’d discovered her neighbour was a terrorist. She’d seen guns, intercepted mail and witnessed large numbers of odd bearded men coming and going into his home at all hours. She rang the hotline this morning when she saw a box of automatic weapons being handled in the though Michael’s open front door.
She had to call, it was her duty. He was a Muslim after all.
Michael was a Muslim, he was married with three children and lived a quiet and respectful life, trying to provide for his three girls and his bride. He’d taken on some odd jobs to augment the wages offered from his accountancy job at ITP and had begun applying his tailoring skills to those that sought out the old fashion style his grandfather had insisted he learnt. In fact he was making more money tailoring than counting but it all helped and the mortgage was going down as his savings started to go up. Luckily his wife Allison was shopping with the girls and when they arrived home thought Michael had been kidnapped. Allison called the Police.
Mary’s appointment was scheduled for 13.30 and she’d extend her lunch to allow for the grilling and empathy she’d be due. Mary had a number of medical conditions, least of all her mental state, which was a thesis and career in the making. In fact it was being considered by her Doctor.
Mary had imagined that Michael was a terrorist, the whole thing, No guns, no mail, no idea. What she did see and hear was normal life, friends and clients calling in for fittings and collection of their new suits. Mary had been swayed by right wing, conspiratorial folks who now populated and polluted today’s social media and politics.
Ignorance, hatred, suspicion, the simplification of complex matters into short nonsensical three word slogans and jingoistic crap that sound good when screamed at the audience from under a flag on a soap box. These screamers offered no solutions or answers to these complex issues, they just spun the fan and let the shit stick were it would.
Mary was hospitalised, the hotline team learn’t a lesson in prioritising calls and allocating an appropriate Police reaction. Michael and his family were offered an apology and provided with compensation covering the destruction brought upon their house.
He’s still a Muslim, still creates amazing suits and can work magic on your taxes.