Former Baseball Player Sucks At Crowdfunding: A Time Travel Adventure by Dan Ryckert

Author:Dan Ryckert
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-11-26T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

By Jason Berger (@jayberger)

The Year 2001

The water felt cool on his face. At 6:40am it was still early - too early - for him to be awake but today there was a reason; a mission.

He realized the water was cool, COLD even. Cold water was a luxury - no one in this airport restroom realizes it. No one is as - is it grateful? Yes. He felt something. He was awakened by the splash of cold. He pumped the soap twice into the palm of his hand, switched the handle to H - hot, another luxury, and he thought long and hard about what was about to happen.

Mohamed Atta had spent the better part of two years in America learning how to fly a plane in Florida, and laying low. It was surprisingly easy since this country was so confident and unaware of what he could do; will do. He came here with a true hate of this country, this country’s laws, this country’s gluttony, this country’s religious beliefs. He had spent two years with same daily routine, planning for today. A day that if he went through with it would change the world. He would be dead, charred and ash. He would be remembered as a soldier by a small amount of people, someone who just did what he was told, and he would be forcefully forgotten by everyone else in the world. That is the power he held in the form of a makeshift knife in this pocket of his GAP shirt. A shirt he chose because it made him blend in with the rest of the American population, a sensible shirt that fit nice and didn’t cost a lot of money. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw someone that over the course of two years had changed from the man he was when he entered this country.

He thought for a second - what if I just walk out of this airport? What if I just walked away? Got in a cab, went to a McDonald's and had an Egg McMuffin and a cup of coffee like so many Americans were doing right now. Being normal, going about their lives happily or unhappily but feeling something. What if I did that? The others would go about their mission and most likely follow through with it, but if I didn’t it would throw everything off.

A man walked up next to him. “Mornin’” he said and began to wash his hands. Cordial. A human being respecting a stranger’s existence for no reason other than to acknowledge that he is another person simply sharing the same public sink that he is. This man didn’t have to say anything, he could wash his hands and walk away never to be seen or heard from again, but this man made a choice to say something because this person had made a choice to be nice; to be good. Mohamed broke a small, ineffective smile and slight nod of the head to acknowledge the man’s genuine greeting.

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