Timmy Swanson: ISIS the next Generation
By Nathaniel Miller
Standing alone, Timmy stood a no one at the transit station, a typical all-American teen boy of fifteen in a suburb of Oklahoma City, Ok. He is an outcast, a loser, in which girls shun or make fun of, bullies beat up on, jocks prank, and people generally ignore. He is about five, five, one hundred and twenty pounds, has sandy blond hair, blue eyes, a round atypical face. (His nose is large, has buck teeth, big ears, and a partial mono brow.) The boy was minding his own business when classmates found him standing at the station in his hometown, well after school and in the late afternoon.
These were the same kids that earlier, put a “Kick Me” sign on his back, making kids kick him, or breaking into his locker to stack it, where his books would fall on him when it was opened. Also causing things to happen, and getting him to be blamed by the staff. He was intelligent, but not that intelligent for the pranks that were pulled. He was an ordinary kid. Now, as he stood there, he waited for the bus that would run by his house from downtown where the school was located.
“Look it’s that nerd, Timmy.” One said, and Timmy turned, recognizing it as Aaron Jones and with him was his cohorts that he ran with. They are the other three that Timmy recognized as Daniel Nelville, Pete Mitchell, Phoenix Skyfeather. They all hated him and he knew it. They all ran toward the young lad, who took up a defensive posture, ready for the four.
“So where are you off to Timmy?” Pete sneered, as he reached out and pushed him.
“None of your business.” Timmy said with a snarl, and kept himself facing them, backing against a nearby pillar so they could not get behind them. Their patented maneuver would be to imitate the WWE and put a sleeper hold on him.
“What a fricking nerd.” Phoenix said, as he reached for Timmy’s book bag, and pulled at it.
“Let’s check how much homework you won’t be doing.” Phoenix said with a chuckle, and taking it away, that he took out his switch blade knife and it opened with a click. He cut open the bottom of the bag letting his books and papers fly everywhere.
Timmy knelt to get the papers and books, but for his trouble was kicked in the head. He was grabbed and held as they punched him in the sternum, and in the face. Timmy resisted and got an arm free and proceeded to hit Aaron in the nose, breaking it and blood gushing everywhere as he went down. The other turned him, and they kneed him in the guts again, taking the wind out of him as they struck him repeatedly, making him go down where they kicked at him.
A police whistle sounded.
“Jiggers it’s the cops!” Aaron stammered, and they all bolted, leaving him to lie on the ground in a pool of his own blood from his mouth and nose. The cop walked on by, totally ignoring Timmy and his plight at first.
“This ain’t no Holiday Inn, you can’t sleep here.” He rumbled, “If you don’t have a ticket for a bus, you must move on.” He walked on.
Timmy lie on the cement platform a while. He felt a hand on his shoulder a moment later, and he turned his head, his eyes focusing on what appeared to be a young woman clad in black from head to toe with a headscarf on her head.
“Are you alright?” She asked politely.
“I have seen you around.” She said, “I have seen the ugly thing those boys do, how would you like to get even with them?”
“H-how can I?” Timmy whispered, “I can’t even take care of myself.”
“We’ll teach you.” She replied, “Come I’ll show you.”
Timmy felt dazed, wondering about the WE part as she helped him to his feet and he stared at the shrouded face in question. She has dark black hair, skin and brown eyes. The clothes she wore, a simple tunic and pants with the scarf on her head. She is nothing like he had seen around in these parts before.
“My name is Karem Al Akaham.” She said. Her voice is slightly accented and it carried a musical tone to it as she pronounced her name. He smiled at her.
“Timmy Swanson.” He replied, as he bowed slightly to her, making her smile.
“If you are wondering about the scarf and clothes, it is what I am supposed to wear, I am a Muslim.”
A Muslim! He thought, He had only heard that President Obama had been bringing them in by the plane loads from the war torn nations of the Middle-East. It was anyone who wanted asylum here to escape the pressure of being killed because they were not completely Muslim according to Sharia Law over there.
“I didn’t know you were here.” He said, “I am an atheist myself, I stopped believing when my mom and pap died when I was six.”
“You should convert to Muslim and believe in Allah.” She said, “You could get a fresh start and learn practical things that could get you evened up with your peers.”
“I don’t even know where to start to learn such things.”
“I can be your guide.” Karem told him with a nod, and took up his hands, “I know you live in a dorm in a reform type school for orphans, come with me, I’ll take you to a place that is safe and over the summer you can learn our ways, a new way for yourself.”
He grinned, surprised that any girl would even suggest such things to him or even taken an interest in him. He felt her pull his arms. Timmy nodded.
“Okay.” He replied and together they gathered up his books and papers and they ran in a different direction. She led him far away from the transit station to a nearby fence.
Here an old school bus painted black waited next to a table where a banner with funny writing and other people waited. They all talked to, what appeared to Timmy, as strong, fierce, looking people dressed in black. They all had glasses on and a sash across their faces, with a sash around their heads. They all wore the same type of loose fitting pants and tunics as Karem. He smiled and nodded to her, both climbing on board the back of the bus. A half hour later, they were on the road toward the camp located in the middle of a secluded valley between the ranges of high hills around it. A lake was located in the center of the valley as was trees. There were many buildings built here, and what appeared to be obstacle courses and exercise courses, also barracks too.
Timmy gasped as he peered at the camp as the recruits were filed out of the bus and stood in neat rows. He was introduced to Sharia Law quickly, the punishment if he broke one and the harsh discipline associated with his training. They had their head shaved, they were stripped and handed the same loose fitting clothes that covered their arms, legs, faces and gloves for hands. Each one wore boots. The first night was hell, as they were given harsh conditions of WW2 surplus cots and a meal of beans and rice. Before he bedded down they were given push ups and other exercises. They were all on their knees and shown how to pray to Allah.
He wondered if he would be able to take on the punishment that Karem had said he would be going through to train him in the ways of her people.
“If it did, it will probably kill me.” He thought, and yet he managed a shrug. If he did this he would be with Karem, who really liked him and showed him by encouraging him, and embracing him. He turned his head as the recruits knelt on the mats on the floor of the barracks.
“Ash-hadu An laa Elaha Ella Allah wa Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasulu Allah.” The group intoned, “Alhamdulillah.”
Karem was at his side as they did the ritual and she smiled as he reluctantly followed suit. Leaning over she kissed him on the cheek when no-one was looking, a violation of their customs. He blushed but he also smiled at the quick kiss. He reached out as they knelt beside each other and he held her hand, glancing at her as she nodded slowly to him. That assured him that all was well.
The young Muslim girl, originally from Syria had never seen an American boy before and had pitied Timmy when she saw him in school, and wanted to rush in to help him but the others shook their heads, even her friends had shook their heads indicating that she should take no action. She was impressed that he made it the first night of his annexation to becoming part of her world.
The young boy thought of his decision, and managed a smile at his choice. He would be given skills, a place to live, clothes, education, and have a romance with the young girl that recruited him. She was never far from Timmy during the training, and he focused on her, being the reason for his choice of training. He wondered if it was un-American what he would be learning.
He learned quickly over the four months of summer in the outskirts of the Oklahoma countryside. He learned terrorism, counter-terrorism, firearms training, combat training, bomb making and a whole string of anarchist handbook training tools. He realized he had been recruited for ISIS, but he did not care. He did not return to school or his home, living at the camp full time and realized that he could easily get even with Aaron Pete, Phoenix and Marcus. The school did notice his absence come fall, but they took no action at first to locate him. They only called the dorm to be told that he never made it back before summer and a small search had been done to reveal nothing of his whereabouts. They really didn’t care about him. The sheriff had a poster for information of his whereabouts but that was all, and a small reward.
He felt wanted and welcomed to their world with his coming to this camp. Timmy found himself there because he was close to Karem, their romance and love bond growing stronger as they progressed with his training. He had nothing when he started, now he had a place to be, training to do many things, including drive and a romance with a young girl.
He had wondered if he was un-American for what he was doing four months ago when he questioned his place under Allah. He had answered his question, learning what a terrorist was, and what he was learning was falling under that classification. Yes he was a terrorist.
“Yes, I am a terrorist, but what does it matter, death to the Infidels.” He thought, “It is probably wrong what I am doing, hurting the people and country I was born into. But they never did anything for me, so why should I care? So long as I have my skills, my Karem and I am happy, it should not matter.”
Timmy drove away any other thoughts and doubts of serving Allah with inflicting pain to himself. He was a killing machine, a great shot and ample weapons manufacturer. He had everything he needed.
When his training was complete, Timmy realized what his first task should be, and knew it should be revenge for being beaten to an almost inch of his life by those three boys at the Terminal Station. He would kill them in cold blood, and not worry about the consequences. So long as he could find satisfaction for their removal from this world.
“Yankee pig-dogs.” He muttered, as he held up a forty-five revolver, pulling back the cocking mechanism to chamber a bullet.
Dressing in black, like the others, he sported a skull mask on his face as he packed a large back with multiple grenades and handmade bombs, claymores and other devices he had been making in class for the cause. It was a weekday and school was in. He traveled unnoticed to the school where he used to attend.
As he walked in the door, he slipped unnoticed past the many rooms, and want to the first locker which he was going to bomb. Timmy used his knife to open the locker and quickly he set a wire detonated Claymore in Aaron’s locker, one that would tear off and disintegrate his face when he opened the locker. Next the young man wired a timed bomb that would time down from 5 seconds for Pete’s locker. Timmy used custom fragment grenades that would pull the pin, jamming the locker until they would detonate a charge forced outward to do the most damage. Finally for Phoenix he packed in a case filled with C-4 and plastic bags of sharpened nails and metal fragments. It was Shrapnel that would tear into and rip hunks of flesh from the body. His revenge was ready in a matter of a half an hour, forty-five minutes for all the lockers. And to make this the ultimate dis to the school, he did it without anyone noticing he was there by the other students or staff.
When the explosives detonated on each student it shook the hallway. The first killed at the school was Aaron, the claymore disintegrating his face and neck, leaving only a stump of flesh where his head and part of his shoulders had been. Phoenix had been burned and seared to a crisp as gunpowder had been ignited and the shrapnel had cut huge pieces of flesh from his body, severing arms and his head from its body. It was the same with the other two, severe damage was inflicted on each but there was one draw back: Timmy had caused shrapnel to be thrown twenty feet in the hall in all directions, anyone close to the explosions would be instantly killed and as the footage was moved outward, it ranged from severe to moderately wounded into his schoolmates. Timmy had not counted on the damage of the lockers to do more damage than it was supposed to. But it was too late and really he didn’t care anyway.
He would never forget the screams in the hallway, the smoke that filled the hallway and the sight of blood, the precious blood and life he took to those infidels who had beat him down before.
“It doesn’t matter. No-one in that piece of shit school deserves to live anyway.” He thought, “Never treated me right anyway.” He quickly thought of the name for his action in the Muslim community: “Jihad.”
Timmy smiled and nodded, acknowledging of what he had committed and that he was now a terrorist. The only thing to do now was to run and hide into the mountains of Iraq, with his beloved Karem who was never far from him. His revenge was complete and they were dead.
Now his next step was to help in the war in Iraq… He had an FBI picture and it was him dressed in black from head to toe, including gloves with the skull mask, the most wanted and hefting his beloved M-16 machine gun on his shoulder. The last thing people would see when he killed them and he stood over them gloating, as a new Muslim, a traitor to the United States, and ISIS: The Next Generation.