Saturday, January 30, 2010


I watched the Bourne Identify this evening, what a great film. It reminded me of a story I had to do in school last year. It had to be short, that was pretty much the only requirement. I think I pulled it off. It took some hard work at the time but I think I'd really enjoy doing some more stuff like this in the future. I doubt anyone will read this but just in case, here is the story.

Reality Check

The sweat came rolling down my face and dripped on to the steaming asphalt. I hardly noticed though, I was more interested in escaping. Cameron was running next to me panting hard, we couldn’t do this much longer. Three shots came whizzing by our heads and lodged themselves in the wall directly in front of us. The only avenue led to the right, turning quickly, we sprinted head long down this new path, hoping it would lead to safety. Cameron stopped, hefted his glock and positioned himself behind a large trash bin. “ Go!” He said, “I’ll hold them off.” I hesitated and looked back, our pursuers had just turned the corner. Cameron popped up and fired off two rounds, catching one of them in the chest. They shot back just as quickly: Cameron was hit. His breath rushed out in a gasp and his eyes closed. My head began to spin and I wondered how it had come to this?


We’d been stationed in one of Britain’s Islamic communities, in connection with MI6. We were part of team working to discover who was supplying fake identification to small radical Islamic factions in America. A thankless and dangerous job. I was head coordinator on one of the sting units. While Cameron was the one who actually took the unit into the field. We’d been tipped off about the location of possible cell leaders and were eager to investigate. The tip was good, we decided to move. Operation scalpel was put into motion. We hoped to catch ring leaders, but it didn’t work out that way. Everything went terribly wrong…….

I was jolted back to reality by another burst of gunfire. I grabbed the gun from my friends hand, lifting my own as well. I could mourn later. With speed born of adrenaline I jumped up and began to pump off rounds. I turned and ran, firing backwards as I did so. Shots followed me like angry bees, one striking my leg. I didn’t notice. Someone had to make it back to base alive. I made a left this time, there was no other choice. I ran a few yards only to realize it was a dead end! On a roof, three stories up sat a man with an Ak-47. “This is bad.” I thought. I was considering firing, when three men came up from behind. One of them was Cameron.

“Don’t bother with the guns,” said one of the men in a very strong Arabian accent. I just stared, “how?” Was all I managed to choke out. Cameron pulled up his shirt to reveal a Kevlar vest. “I don’t understand?” I said bewildered. “They pay better,” said Cameron with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. All of their guns raised as if through a fog. Fire spat from the barrels.

I sat bold upright in bed, sticky with sweat. Someone had turned the lights on. Cameron stood over me with a worried expression. Then his face hardened. Operation scalpel launches at sixteen hundred hours, you’re behind schedule!
I shook of the dream, Surely, that’s all it was……….

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