The Trial

On the day a man blew himself up on a train, we built two cages.  One for Jehovah.  One for Allah.

We put them on trial.  People queued for days to see the cages.  They would queue longer to be there on the day.

Future generations would ask where were you when...

It was Kennedy and Lennon all over again.

Jerusalem in summer.

The wall was silent.

Jews watched the Arabs while we watched the skies.

I felt the ghost of Gandhi sidling up to me.  Whistling 'that'll be the day that I die'.

We turned the International space station into a giant prayer mat.  6,500 languages sent deep in to space.  They had 365 days to make their defence.  The trial was set for midsummer's day.  Jerusalem burned.  They had until sunset.

On the day of the trial the world held its breath.  Lions stalked us all.  Imagined and real.  Out there.  In No Man's Land.  I thought we would all pass out if we did not breathe.  I breathed.  The world breathed with me.

Then the whole world was talking at once.  A babble of voices crying out to heaven.  7.3 billion souls.

There was fear in the air.  What would happen?  How would the super deities react?

The insolence of us all.

I joined in the prayer, face raised toward heaven.  Hope pouring out like milk on my Krispies.  

At midday a shout went up.

"They are here, they have come."

I tried to get closer.  A great swelling of people all pushing forward trying to catch a glimpse.

It was a false alarm.

We played cricket.  Kids played hide and seek.  We forgot.  Enjoyed the sunshine.  It was a holiday.  The world's biggest street party.

At tea time we had drinks and sang songs.

Our prayers reduced to a murmur.  We talked in shallow whispers.  Made friends.

We sounded like drones over the cities; annoying but dangerous.  Frustration creeping in.  Anger.  I felt the stirring of unease prick my skin.

Then a little  girl, with hard eyes and a ponytail climbed on a trailer just before ten to eight in the evening.  Sanaz Jamal, six years old, orphaned.  She looked to the west.  Her face a defiant frown of indignation.  The orange pink glow of the sunset lit her face.

"I'm tired," she said, "I'm going home.  They aren't coming.  They never were."