Blood: The Alternative Energy

The Muslim boy sat with his father on a Gaza beach. The white sand around the father was red from the blood that was blasted from the father’s body from a stray Israeli bomb. The Muslim boy was eight years old.

The Jewish boy sat with his father on a street in Tel Aviv. The black asphalt around the father was glistening dark red from the blood that was blasted from the father’s body from a Palestinian bomb that had been placed in a park car. The Jewish boy was eight years old.

The Muslim boy watched the two men lift his father onto a stretcher and cover him with a white sheet. The two men walked away with the stretcher and left the Muslim boy on the beach with the red sand.

The Jewish boy watched two men lift his father onto a stretcher and cover him in a white sheet. The two men walked away with the stretcher and left the Jewish boy on the street with the glistening red asphalt.

The Muslim boy stood and faced the afternoon sun that hung over the blue Mediterranean water. He took a deep breath and thanked God that the death of his father had now given him purpose.

The Jewish boy stood and faced the afternoon sun that hung over the tall buildings of Tel Aviv. He took a deep breath and thanked God that the death of his father had now given him purpose.

The Muslim boy and the Jewish boy had once lead purposeless lives, playing soccer together, swimming in the sea together, drawing and writing together. But now into the void of empty lives, lives filled with nothing but shallow pursuits like sports and art, was placed the blood of their fathers, blood that was hot and wet and a combustible fuel that would outlast the oil fields of the Middle East. A fuel that represented what scientists claimed did not exist in nature: perpetual motion.