It was a foggy, dewy morning in the big brown city. The alarm went off for around two minutes before Gracie got out of his covers, stood up, stretched, and finally hit the snooze button. He looked around the room to see if everything was in order. Gracie had a sleeping disorder that began when the bombings started during the night. It caused him to sleepwalk around his room. What he would do, he did not know until morning. He looked around and noticed that a desk chair was missing. This surprised him since he knew he could never leave the room while sleepwalking. He searched the room intently, checking under the bed, the hamper, and the closet. Finally, he looked out the window. The view was not pleasant; it was a graffiti-covered brick wall. His window was positioned in an alleyway. He looked down to the ground, which was far because his apartment was on the fourth floor, and he saw his desk chair in pieces on the cement. Gracie stared at the broken black chair for a bit, thinking my sleeping disorder is getting out of hand. Then he left his room and put a cup in his coffee machine. While waiting, he turned on the radio to keep himself from boredom. He listened intently, “I hope you all are having a good morning. I know we are here at KMM radio. Last night another Philistine bombing went off at a movie theater. Enforcement is still trying to recover bodies from the rubbish. We know North Representative Jain Thomas, who was taking her family to see the new film Red, White, and Black was killed by the bomb. Was this incident a good thing or bad thing? Everyone has their opinions, but one thing is for sure, the Philistine made his statement, and he made it very clearly.” Gracie quickly grabbed his coffee and placed a cap on the cup. He was in a hurry this particular Saturday morning because it was the one day out of the week he got to meet with his counseling group. 

 

Gracie arrived at the Government Counseling Center and found a place to park not far away. He quickly scampered up the steps and ran down the hall, counting the door numbers. “Here, room 646.” He opened the door to the small, cozy room, which consisted of a couple of lamps, two large windows with a great view of the city, and a circle of five folding chairs. Gracie sat down and checked the time; he was one minute early. He looked around the group identifying each member, the first being Foul Childers, an overweight middle-aged man with the gift of cooking. Then there was a nineteen-year-old man named Orville Stump who was a fine-looking black man, and his profession was stealing, or at least it used to be.

Next was Sg. Mcgrugerfellowman. He was an old-fashioned man who had a wealthy appearance. He was an army veteran with over one hundred confirmed kills which he boasted about often. Lastly, there was Doctor Bill, who had a Ph.D. in psychology. He was the kindest, most caring man Gracie had ever met. But he could also be harsh at times when it was needed. He served as a counselor for the government, helping anyone in need in the community. Dr. Bill said, “it looks like everyone is here so we can get started. Did you guys fill out the homework I gave you guys?” Everyone nodded. “That’s great. I think to kick off this session we’ll just go around the room and say what we learned from our homework. You can start Orville.” Orville nervously adjusted his paper and cleared his throat.

“So, you asked us if our partner was to do something bad to us if we should get back at her. If my hypothetical girl was to slap me, you can be sure that I’m gonna slap back and get justice….” Gracie interrupted, “hey, hey, hey, I don’t think that is the right thing to do. I—I don’t think that is going to make the situation any better.” Sg. McGrugerfellowman argued, “I think it’s right for a man to get justice. It’s only right to slap her back.” Then there was a moment of silence until Dr. Bill asked, “what do you say Foul?” He said thoughtfully, “I think I’m the only one here that has had a woman for a long time—other than Dr. Bill of course. But if my wife slapped me, I think it would be completely justified for me to slap her back. But I don’t think that it would make our relationship better, in fact if I was thinking of our relationship I would not slap her back and it would likely calm the whole situation down.” Dr. Bill nodded, “I think Foul gets it, I think he really gets it. Suppose you have a situation where a person close to you hurts you physically or even emotionally. In that case, it is not correct to hurt them back. That is only going to make it worse. If you hurt them, it will only create a downward spiral of pain that will end the relationship forever. I know Foul is following me but are any of you guys? This is really important in living a healthy life.” Everyone nodded and agreed with Dr. Bill. He said, “okay guys, now let’s get to today’s work. It’s actually all about sacrificing desires—“suddenly, the walls caved in, and flames filled the room. Gracie saw debris flying everywhere right before he blacked out.

 

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The doctor sat down on a metal seat which he placed next to Gracie’s bed, and said, “I think it will be some weeks before we can let you out of here. You had fractures on several bones in your left leg and a severe gash on the back of your head. Your body will heal up the wounds, and you’ll be back to your normal life in no time.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Gracie said with a forced smile. As the doctor closed the door to the hospital room, Gracie stopped him, “hey, just one thing—um, do you know what happened to the other guys in my counseling group?” The doctor let out a huge sigh and looked down. Gracies’ heart sank. The doctor hesitantly said, “yeah, about that. All the other guys are doing about the same as you. They didn’t suffer any major injuries. But, Dr. Bill just passed away a couple hours ago from blood loss.” Gracie looked straight at the doctor but was fading away from reality, “thanks, doc.” Once he heard the door shut, he cried.

 

Two weeks and two days later, he was able to return home and start living his everyday life again. At his apartment and sat around for the rest of the day, pondering the meaning of life and death. He felt so many emotions because of Dr. Bill’s death. He felt sadness, but he felt anger and rage toward the killer. Gracie knew if he had a chance to find the Philistine who did this, he would do inhumane things. Amid his thoughts and rage, he wrote three letters. One for Sg. McGrugerfellowman, Foul Childers, and Orville Stump. They were short invitations to a hangout at Clooney’s Bar, Gracie’s go-to place for a good time.

 

Later that night, Gracie was waiting at the bar, “hey buddy, over here.” The bartender walked to Gracie, “get me a hot beer on the rocks would ya?”

“Will do, one hot beer coming up.”

Gracie turned his head toward the door and saw Orville walk in. He sat next to Gracie and chirped, “how are you doing old friend?”

“Pretty well, I’m still getting over doc’s death.”

“Yeah, I am having trouble understanding it all. Like, why did doc have to die? Why couldn’t it be me—or any of the other guys.”

“I can’t get my head around it either but—I keep telling myself that God had a reason and something good will come out of it.”

“I’m glad that gives you comfort but I’m not a religious man myself. I’ll find a way to cope.”

“I’m not too much either but it helps—it just helps.”

Sarge walked in and sat down at the bar with the crew, “I need a beer.” He signaled to the bartender. Gracie said, “how are you sarge?”

“Like I said; I need a beer.”

Chuckling, Orville asked, “so, did you gather us here to hang out or did you have something in mind Gracie?”

“I have a proposition for you guys, but let’s just have a few drinks first while we wait for Foul.”

They talked and laughed as they drank their hot beers. Then Foul stumbled through the doors. “Sorry I’m late guys, had an argument with the old maid back home.”

They seemed to say in unison, “nah it’s all good. We understand. Women can be brutal.”

After a small conversation, Gracie decided to tell them why he had brought them there. “So, as we all know, Dr. Bill is dead. He was too good of a man to die. It should have been me…” they all argued, “no, no, it should’ve been me.” Then there was a moment of silence until Gracie said, “You ever get frustrated—you know, it just seems like no one cares that he died. All the radio talks about is the statement against the Northist government by the Philistine. I feel like he needs to be avenged or at least noticed. That’s why I brought you all here. To use this devastating tragedy to start something good. I want to create a group that stops Philistine bombings so that no one else has to die. Another thing; if we make the news, we can let people know about Dr. Bill’s death, then he’ll be remembered and honored. What are you guys thinking?” They all had an inspired twinkle in their eyes. Orville said, “I think you’re absolutely right. We need to avenge his death!” Sarge said, “that’s right and we’ll make sure no one has to lose loved ones.” Foul added, “Doc’s death will get its rightful respect.”

Gracie asked, “so—are you guys in?”

In perfect unison, they said, “yes.” “Of course.” “Indeed.” “Yep.”

 

“You brought us here for what purpose Sarge?” Asked Gracie. “Prepare your hearts for this one boys.” He opened the door to his garage. All of their eyes lit up as they saw everything. On the wall was a long rack of all types of guns. On the opposite wall were grenades and gadgets of all sorts. In the center of the garage was parked an armored Jeep. Orville asked, “yo—where did you get all this stuff Sarge?”

“Let’s just say these were a gift of appreciation from the head of the army. Actually, you came to me at the perfect time Gracie, I was about ready to sell all this stuff.”

They fidgeted with the guns and gadgets like eleven-year-old boys with new action figures. “Let’s test this stuff out.” Said Gracie. They each grabbed a gun and went to the large backyard. They set up silver cans a couple hundred feet away at the edge of the woods. Sarge said, “first one to hit three cans wins. On three, two, one, go!” They fired their weapons over and over again, and finally, Gracie hit a can. A couple minutes later, the score was nearly even between them all, but as the other guys fired shot after shot, Gracie took his time aiming and shot his third can. They all cried out misery, “ah, your just lucky kid, your only lucky.”

 

Black tire marks stained the street as the car swerved around the busy corner. “Woo! This baby’s got some power.” Foul yelled from the backseat. Sarge switched the gears, and the engine started rumbling. Gracie watched the speed dial quickly turn. The pressure kept them tightly trapped against the back of their seats. An old lady in the middle of the street turned her head and nearly fainted as she saw the Jeep speeding toward her. Sarge hit the brakes, and everyone hit their heads on whatever was in front of them. Orville yelled, “what in the world Sarge. Ow!” He replied, “oh I’m sorry, is my driving too rough for you ladies?”

“You dirty dog.” He said with a chuckle. The old lady shook her head and walked to the sidewalk. Gracie said, “hey look, I think these guys want to race us.” A loud convertible muscle car pulled up next to them. The man had a purple bandana fitted around his forehead. He was smoking a short cigar that burned his long mustache. Next to him was his girlfriend, who had tangled red hair, messy black lipstick, and a ripped black leather vest. Sarge rolled down his window, and the man yelled, “eat my dust, maggot!” As he stepped on the gas. Infuriated, Sarge put the metal to the floor and tried his best to catch up. Slowly the armored Jeep approached the muscle car. Orville said, “come on Sarge embarrass the kid in front of his little girlfriend.” He grinned, switched the gears, and the Jeep quickly passed the angry couple. Sarge saluted in his rearview mirror as he sped away. Everyone cheered, and Orville commented, “nice goin’ Sarge—maybe your not such a bad driver after all.”

 

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“Okay guys settle down. This is serious stuff now. We have the goal; stop the Philistine bombings. Now, how are we going to accomplish that goal? Where do we start?” Gracie asked.

Foul said, “why don’t we check the propaganda page in the newspaper. That’s where I see a lot of Philistine activity.”

“Great idea. I have the paper in my bedroom. I’ll be right back.” Gracie brought the paper and laid it on the table so everyone could read. “Everybody check for anything Philistine related.” Gracie said as they all started reading. A couple minutes later, Orville blurted, “got something—yeah, look at this ad here, it’s saying something about corruption in government, but anyways in small letters near the bottom—see it? It says funded by the Unification Foundation. A couple weeks back I heard on the radio that they were related to a couple of Philistine bombings that happened that week.”

Gracie said, “oh, I remember seeing an article by them on another page. Let me see here.” He flipped through the pages until, “ah hah, it says, ‘we here at the Unification Foundation care about you and want your family to have a stable life. That’s why we work hard, day by day, to destroy the corrupt Southist government officials who mean nothing but harm to our great motherland. The UF is currently starting a project called Sticks and Stones which will permanently get rid of opposing government officials. This project won’t work without you! We are having a fundraiser event on July 17th at 3535 Unification Foundation Dr. If you are a Philistine or plan to be one in the near future, you are welcome here.”

They pondered this for a second until Gracie said, “I think this could be our mission. Everyone in that party is a Philistine or supports them. If we could just find a way to get a bomb in we could get rid of these people, thereby saving countless innocent lives. What do you guys think?” Foul said, “it’s a perfect opportunity to save lives.” They all agreed. 

 

A couple days later, Orville stopped by Gracie’s apartment. “Oh hey Orville, whatcha got for me?”

“I did a little talking with some of the security at the Unification Foundation and I was able to get a lot of information on the security of the party. Just warning you, it’s not pretty. They are going to have fifty armed security guards posted around the UF building and especially around any entrances. The guards will constantly be making routine checks around the premises. They will check every guest for weapons or anything suspicious and will even check the catering staff and all their dishes. So, bottom line is—this mission is impossible.” Gracie hit the wall in frustration, “it’s never as easy as expected, is it.”

“No sir, it ain’t.”

“We should get the group together to discuss this. Maybe we can come up with an idea.”

 

They sat at a table on the balcony outside of Clooney’s Bar. “So, what’s up Gracie?” Asked Foul. “Orville did a little digging for me and we found out that this mission is going to be a lot harder than expected.” Orville added, “a lot, lot, harder.” Gracie said, “the place is going to be filled with security. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is going to be thoroughly checked.” Gracie paused, “and if I can be totally blunt, I can’t think of a way that this mission can succeed.” They all started thinking intensely and rubbing their chins. Foul hesitantly said, “hey, I just had an idea, but it’s really crazy.”

“Let’s hear it Foul. We need all the ideas we can get.”

“Obviously we can’t be sneaking a bomb inside our coats and we can’t even sneak it in a cart while disguised as a caterer. But what if we followed that idea; we disguise ourselves as caterers and sneak the ingredients needed for a bomb inside the food and assemble the bomb inside the party.”

Orville chuckled, “are you serious man?”

“I know, I know, it’s crazy. But let’s just see where it goes. Sarge, what would we need to make a bomb?”

Sarge said, “well, to create a base model bomb which me and my buddies made back in the army, you would need three ingredients; first, a waxy substance called Cyclonite, secondly, Ammonium Nitrate which are like small beads, and lastly, a liquid called Nitroglycerin. To create the bomb you simply put them all together, then they will react to each other, and in five to ten minutes the place will be ruble.”

Foul leaned in, “if I can get my hands on the menu for that night I can see which substances can be best hidden in which dish.” Gracie added, “and then all there is to do is tie up the caterers, take their places, sneak the bomb ingredients in, assemble the bomb, and get out fast.” Foul said, “the party is tomorrow evening. Let’s get this mission set up. Orville, your job is Ammonium Nitrate which you can sneak in a dish like mac n cheese, I’ll bring a cake with candles molded from Cyclonite, and Gracie and Sarge; you can bring the Nitroglycerin in the drinks.”

The following day they split up to complete their tasks.

 

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Foul peered at the purple brick building across the street from his car window. The sign flashed on and off, turning the road yellow, red, and black. Foul checked his watch, “6:13, you gotta get in there sometime.” Foul opened the door and felt the cold morning dew on his skin. He walked across the street with phony confidence in his stride. He opened the glass door, which had the bakery’s logo. The bell attached to the door rang as Foul quickly approached the counter, pulling out his pistol from his belt. He screamed at the worker as he pointed the gun, “who’s catering parties today?” The woman said, “I-I don’t know! The manager knows this stuff, not me!” Foul shrugged and then pulled the trigger.

 

A bullet flew through her right eyebrow, penetrating the lower part of her brain. Blood spurted onto the wall from her body which had fallen to the ground. Foul walked past the counter and down the hall. He read all the office signs, searching for the manager. As he neared the end of the hall, a door opened behind him. Foul turned around and shot the figure, yelling, “what going on here?” He fired again and again and again until the body dropped. Foul walked up the stairs and found the manager’s office. He opened the door slowly and looked inside with his pistol pointed ahead. A fire extinguisher hit the gun out of his hands, and a man appeared in front of him. Foul pulled out a knife and sprinted at the man who grabbed Foul’s arm before it reached him. He twisted his arm and stabbed Foul. Foul reached for the fire extinguisher and sprayed it in the manager’s face. Foul pulled the knife out of his shoulder and stabbed the confused man in his chest. “Where’s the caterer?” And the man stuttered, “he just left.” Foul pulled down, cutting the man’s torso in half. Blood spattered onto Foul’s black jumpsuit. He grabbed the knife and looked out the window. He saw a white van leaving the back of the building. He walked over, picked up the fire extinguisher, and threw it out the window. Foul took a few steps back, sprinted, and jumped out of the window onto the van roof. He got onto his stomach to keep balance until they reached a stop light. Then he swung down and opened the passenger door. He stepped inside and took a seat. He reached over to the man in shock and sliced his throat. Foul immediately realized his mistake and covered his throat with his hand. The blood spurted like an automatic garden sprinkler onto Foul’s hand and the windshield. Once it had stopped, he took off the man’s clothes and put them on. He took off his blood-covered jumpsuit, wiped the blood off the windshield, and dumped the body into a nearby dumpster. Foul opened the back of the van and placed fifty wax-looking candles made of Cyclonite onto the cake.

 

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Orville drove the stolen van at high speeds until he reached a stop light. He admired the bustling city life around him. A Mexican man was shaking a can of black beans, which he then opened and splatted down on the quesadilla. The customer’s stomach growled as she watched the quesadilla sizzle on the grill. It smelled like Mexico on one of its good days. But Orville was intensely focused on something else. The short, stubby Mexican man had a cigarette in his mouth, which he puffed repeatedly. Every few seconds Orville would take a big sniff as the smoke filled the cabin through the lowered passenger window. Orville pressed on the horn several times to get the man’s attention. People crossing the street looked in fear, some in annoyance as they pondered why he was honking. Finally, they saw it; the little Mexican man turned around when Orville yelled, “hey you—yeah, you! A dollar for that cigarette, right here.” The man looked at him, sort of laughing. “I’m serious, dude. I need that cigarette! One dollar, on the spot.” Orville said as he waved a dollar bill. “Okay, okay.” The man jumped off the curb and ran over to the van. He handed him the cigarette and grabbed the dollar saying, “have a good day. Thank you, thank you.” Orville waved one hand as he placed the cigarette in his mouth. He took a puff, and life wasn’t so bad.

 

The van approached the giant white and grey modern building, which was a little run-down but had colored lights projected to cover it. Orville could hear club music and see the lights rhythmically shining on the clouds as the sunset. He took a breath and drove to the gate, where seventeen security guards approached the van. One stood outside the driver’s window, which he rolled down. “What’s your name?” Orville swallowed, “the name’s George.”

“Alright, we’re gonna need you to step out, please.” He opened the door and jumped out. “Okay, now go grab your dish and bring it here.” Orville’s heart started beating rapidly as he went to the back and fetched the ammonium nitrate-filled macaroni. He held it out at the security guard. The officer grabbed his big spoon from the table and scooped a handful of macaroni. He put it in his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. Then there was silence as the officer pondered about it. “Okay, you can go. My stomach never did so well with macaroni.” Orville put the dish back in the back and drove through. He went around to the back of the building, where he saw Gracie, Sarge, and Foul parked.

 

They all got out of their vans and grabbed their dishes. They walked into the dark back room, where they were greeted by the party coordinator. “Okay, you’re here finally. Follow me, and I’ll show you the tables where you will be serving.” They followed the feminine man to the courtyard. About a hundred men and women were dressed in suits and conversing while drinking various types of alcohol. The building surrounded them, and the walls were covered in vines and string lights. The coordinator got them set up at their different assigned tables.

 

When no one was looking, Gracie grabbed one of the large silver bowls and walked over to Orville. He grabbed a big spoonful of macaroni. Next, he took the cake’s candles and tossed them in the bowl. He poured a couple cups of wine into the bowl. He grabbed a spoon and mixed it all together. Everyone watched intently as he did this except for Orville. He was watching the security officer who had just walked in. The man was white in the face it was turning purple. Then collapsed in the center of the crowd. On his knees, he started to puke onto the ground. Then he screamed and pointed straight at Orville, “get them! Poisoned! Poisoned!”

 

Twenty security guards started running after them. They stuck together, running through the halls. Gracie threw the bowl into a closet and ran back to the vans. They all got in the truck and started backing out. They ducked as guards began firing on them, breaking the windshield. They sped away, crashing through the gate. Once they were a little distance away, Foul, looking at his watch, said, “10–5–boom.” They all looked back and watched as the earth shook. Debris, flames, and a massive cloud of smoke rose from the destruction. They all let out squeals of success. “Boys, we just potentially saved thousands of lives.” They drove to Clooney’s Bar and celebrated their successful mission with hot beers.

 

The following day at an emergency press conference, a Northist governor gave a speech. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As most of you know, last night an explosion went off at a Southist fundraiser event. It killed three hundred men and women who supported the South. So all of us Northists should be celebrating right? Wrong. This bombing is really just another doing of a philistine. The only way to stop the Philistine bombings is to not fight back. If we explode them, we are only producing the other side of the loop. Don’t fight back. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you. The world—“An explosion went off beneath the stage, killing the governor and 70 reporters.