Ayad had never been someone who really fitted in. He had not been not as muscular or manly as most of the guys in school. It actually had been a relieve to him when the gouvernment some years ago had cancelled sports-lessons because of the costs.

"Because of the costs." - Ayad silently had to laugh about it in his mind. This country supposably had made already uncounted billions with it's oil resources. But none of these earnings seemed to be given to the people. All what they worked for, all what they earned all got taken by the 'leader', his family and his henchmen. That he was sure about. But who was he to speak up? People who had tried had always just vanished. You just never hear again of them. And then, weeks or even months after they disapeared without a trace, there might be a letter from the officials that he had died in some tragic accident... - But that happens only in some of the cases... Rarely...

He himself had to stay calm and silent. He knew that he owed that to his family. - Yes, his family. His wife Kadia had always been kind and understanding. Coming to think of it: What much of another choice would she have had? - Their parents had arranged the wedding when they were just kids. And so it was done.

But he was pretty sure that even before the wedding, after they first had met (them both beeing 16 of age at the time) she must have known that he never would have been able to work out his 'marital duties' to her ever.

Because he himself didn't feel much like a man. But to think about that further or even tell anyone? In this country, day and age it would have been a seeking for death penalty. So he simply tried to get along.

He had have quite a hard time having sex with her in the night of their wedding. The two viagra-pills helped to get the job done, but it still had been a hard thing and a burden two him, well to both of them, as he guessed. 'Cause he was well aware that also Kadia sensed he was only attracted by men. But none of them could do a thing about it, so they just kind of in a silent aggrement tried to get along with the situation.

That for Ayad didn't even get angry when he realized his wife finally got an affaire, a boyfriend. He actually more felt relieved that this man, whom's name was Farag, stepped in for the things and needs of his wife he wasn't any good for. And therefore he kept silent.

Now, in the year 2011, his wife had three kids. He wasn't really sure if even the first of them was one of his own. But he didn't care to much. At least people didn't seem to be suspect anything. For the people out there he was just an odinary familyman. And he was just glad that they thought that.

So he tried to bury his sexual desires in his head as deep as he could, focussing on his job (he was a market vendor for a profession) and tried just not to think about his 'inadequateness' as much as possible.

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Ayad reloaded the weapon he had be trained as a gunmen for. He didn't even know the exact name of it. It just was his weapon and he had learned how to handle it in a very short time. Through using it. - Well, all he really knew was that it was some kind of heavy artillery, improvisively welded on the back of a worn out pick up-truck which was also mounted with two other comrades of his rebell-battailon.

He wasn't much carrying anymore if he would live or die. Finally... right here... he had found something, some place were he was an equal to others... had a worth... - Nobody thought little of him. They just fought together for the same target: To get Ghaddafi, the 'leader' down for good. And nobody cared about what or whom he was, as long as his aiming was good. And so it was.

Ayad merciless once more pulled the trigger and the heavy, exploding bullets nailed the truck way in front of them. He could even see the faces of the scared out african mercenaries. They knew death was coming to them. Only half a second after that, their truck lighted up in a huge explosion, leaving none of them alive.

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Ahmed had always been a low life. He had made made a living through selling drugs to the countless desperate beings in the "Republic of Libya". And there had been many of them. A never ending stream of customoers. As long as they could afford it, he always had delivered. The gouvernment and authority had been a mere joke and if there ever had been a problem, a few ruppies had always been enough to silence them.

Now he was in the middle of the revolution, in the city of Tripoli. He never had made any savings of his huge earnings. In this country, and especially in his business, one never knows if the next day might be his last. So he had constantly spent all of his money. On entertainment, luxury, whores... Whatever. - "The future? Fuck that sh...!"

Now he was all broke. One more time that was. Due to the revolution and the recension coming along with it, he had lost his last savings. But now he saw a new chance. Of course he hadn't fought with the revolutionary forces. He didn't want to get a bullet into his brain. "Let that nut jobs do the work. I'm gonna keep myself outta it."

It turned out that the rebels might have won. 'The leader' Ghadaffi had fled, the rebells were now roaming the streets of Tripoli, yelling their victory cries out in the fog and dust of the battle. - And he was with them, now...

"Are you okay, brother?" - He said it out loud so anyone who might be propably around could hear his words. Along with that he knelt down besides a corpse and searched it hastly for money or valuable goods. He just found some ammunition for an AK-47 storm-rifle. And an piece of paper.

He unfolded it and read the words which were written on it...

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"To you whoever might find this note:

Ayad Rasheeda al Syene"

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Dissapointed Ahmed threw the note careless down on the floor. No valuable items, no money whatsoever. But over there, only like fifteen metres away, there was another dead. Maybe he would be luckier with this one...

Slowly the blood and mud soaked through the little piece of paper, erasing it's lines more and more. It was almost unreadable, when some man running over it smashed it totally with his rough boots, not even noticing it had been there.

The grave of Ayad was covered with concrete. They had to bury so many. There are no names... - Just numbers...

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