Offended Deadline: 11:23 P.M.

I am standing by the airline gates waiting for my flight, before I leave this place of hell on earth. I am supposed to switch places with the person with whom I am meeting and we will exchange a quick glance before the exchange of briefcases.

Sounds like a spy movie or a monitoring of government information or even two people giving each other valuable top secret insider trading. It seems more or less top secret, but not what we are wanting to exchange.

No there are no spies in the shadows or people speaking into headphones. There are no one wiser to what we are exchanging or wanting to pass off as worthy of a bullet. Old habits die hard and death is playing for keeps, while those who are involved will figure out the one thing they thought they were paying for was useless and worth monopoly money at best.

It makes my blood boil and my nerves of steel turn into jelly. It makes my head sweat and makes me feel less than courageous in what I am planning on doing after I get what I am exchanging for, and they will do likewise. In front of who all is in the general area, yet the thrill won't be as great as the responses when it goes from a simple fire to engulfing the whole area that I am standing in, possibly with me included.

First the oohs and aahs, the delight of us trying to pull this exchange off without a hitch and yet once the initial shock has worn thread bare, then the after part will allow us to escape or die trying to. The security is lacking, and the local police are here for another preoccupied with a celebrity or a politician that does not deserve the invite to the area, much less the fanfare. I keep seeing certain sets of eyes glare at me, as though they know what is about to happen, but the radio traffic is minimal.

The onlookers and well-wishers are thick as a Macy's Day Thanksgiving parade, but not too much so that I cannot see through them to the entry gate, but the idea of this who moment being laid to waste because of one false move or misread signal would jeopardize the whole mission or whatever you wish to call it. Not the I am worried about the last part as much as I am worried about the first part.

The area I was standing in was thick with musty cigar spoke, was broken with the silence of screaming babies, the scene was more like a war zone than a simple airport waiting area. It was those flash backs that brought me to my knees as I lingered in one place too long and was caught with my mind in my hand, playing out the last 7 years of torment and torture. I was always asked was I ok. Never in English more like gibberish.

I would shake myself back to reality. The one thing keeping me standing there, in this one spot, was the fear of not knowing what I would do specifically. I was looking at my suit one moment, then I was in my BDUs wrestling with the distinction of which year I was in. More like the dreams I had started to allow to resurface. The ones that were caught in the tug of war between the present and the past. The ones that had been in my subconscious and conscious. It made me uneasy and my stomach was not prepared to handle this new dream/nightmare sequence.

I pulled a handkerchief from my upper suit jacket pocket, was about to use it, when there appeared blood, at first very small and not noticeable. So small it was as if I was hallucinating or imagining. Then the heat was like a heat lamp set to extreme hot and I was in the jungle once more. The bloody material was seeping through and was dripping down my arm. I looked once more, and my arm was no longer there. It was replaced with a bloody stump instead. I screamed.

I must have dozed off standing in the spot I was last at. I was looking at my briefcase and wondering when I would be able to release this chain on my wrist, setting it free to move wherever it wished to go or be taken to. The sheer impatience I was feeling was no less than full eruption of anger and dissatisfaction. I was losing both quickly as I then started to walk again, trying to regain the feeling in my legs, first with the hips, then the knees, then finally the ankles and feet. I was looking more like a haggard mess for I had crumpled my neatly pressed business suit. It was snug fitting and now felt like a choke collar around my neck.

I edged my way to the opened gate for passengers to off board the plane. I was feeling excited at the thought to exchanging briefcases and seeing what would happen the moment they caught fire, then exploded.

I was about to ask if all the passengers had left the plane from Flight 1209, and if there may be anyone left onboard. Then one lone person was making their way towards me slowly. They stopped a few times before finally reaching where I was standing. They shoved a paper in my stretched-out hands and then collapsed at my feet. Slowly the crowd of people, those closest to me saw this happen first. Then the area was filled with many people.

I looked down at the person who was sprawled out and noticed by now they were bleeding quickly onto the carpet. I heard a distant ticking noise, that was deafening in my ears and caused me scream once again. I ran off, tripping several times, before reaching the nearest bathroom.

I had almost forgotten the paper slipped into my hands before they fell over dead. I decided to read the paper. It was all I could do to not scream again, but this was cut short by the explosion.

The paper went flying into the air and landed over by the bathroom door. I didn't see what was written on the paper, but someone had and now I would never know who had picked it up.

I was thrown by the blast into the lobby area, barely alive and a man lowered next to me, spoke these haunting words, "We're Done, GOODBYE!!!! Before I was placed on the stretcher to be whisked away, I heard the laugh that is still ringing in my ears, and the man was smiling. "Shame we missed you this time. Isn't it Patrick?"

After that I fell into a coma, a deep delirious coma.