Siren Song, redux

July 05, 2006 by susan

Well no, except I get the creeps when they blow on the first Wednesday. (I know Barb, it feels like Monday.) The hairs on my neck stand up every time. And I get the creeps when I see the mother in Baghdad laying out mats to sleep with her children on the roof because it's 120 degrees and the electricity only sputters in randomly, and I get them when I see Condi's huge mug on my CNN default page and realize that there couldn't be a worse team than the one we have responding to North Korea's nuke tests, and I get them when I see that Kenny Boy will serve his time in hell and not in prison.
But I get surging waves of nausea when I read of the rape and murders in Mahmoudiya. I know, I know, it's only a deranged few, but today I am not rational. And besides, I'm not so sure.

The story of how they spotted this girl at a checkpoint, and started planning to rape her, and how her mother noticed the way they were looking and worried, and how they came in the night and murdered that mother, and then the father and five year old sister, and then how two of them raped the 14 year old and shot her and burned her and returned to base saying simply that no one was ever to speak of it again -- that story is the most sickening yet, in a war that I didn't think could get any more sickening.
Blow the sirens. I'd like some chills to go with my nausea.

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