Terrorism, by Jacob Mulcahy-Miller

Dusk came early that night, 6 o’clock to be exact. Jeremiah was sitting upright in his leather recliner, his eyes straining to see the man on the screen as he ranted about Jeremiah and his family. The anger in the man’s voice was terrifying. They would be coming again. They had to be.

The noise began to grow fainter and fainter as time went by. By 8 o’clock there was only silence from the outside world. Until he heard them.

They were walking around the house. They were yelling at the door. They kicked it in with such force. Why, why was this happening again? There was more shouting, and the men pushed the family on their knees, hands behind their heads. They continued to shout in a language unknown to Jeremiah.

They raised their rifles and fired. As his parents fell onto the now blood-soaked floor, Jeremiah screamed. Why did they have to die? The soldiers left, speaking in their foreign language. Back at home, Jeremiah sat in the chair in a trance-like state.

He later learned that foreign language, and understood their cries: “Kill the jihadists!”