No longer shall my heart be Quiet – Ch.5

Posted on June 2, 2018

"No Longer shall my Heart be Quiet"



Chapter 5  -  A taste of Hickory



It was so much fun. The highlight of an otherwise interminably boring day.

Sitting at the school gates, waiting for the pretty, shy young girls to come walking out.

In their black skirts. White blouses.

Openly leering, the high testosterone men, some already fully bearded and others yet aspiring to that distinction, enjoyed the privilege of their own language, that they knew none of the Kuffaar understood. They  had long since become used to shouting loud encouragement to one another's lurid fantasies:

"Mohammed! There's your girl friend! Those big bazookas! Can you handle her?"

Laughter.

"Shut up, Youssef!  Just because you know you would suffocate with your dirty mouth between her knockers!"

"Ah, but is that where your mouth would stay for very long, cousin?"

The speaker stuck his tongue out dramatically, and proceeded to vibrate it between his lips suggestively.

Loud, raucous laughter.

"Omar! There's your secret crush! Here she comes! Oh, my word, she's all shy today! You want to fuck her?"

Young Omar would blush, not yet fully hardened in the ways of the cruel, misogynist culture he had been born into. He would say nothing, and yet, unable to take his eyes off the timid Swedish blonde that demurely passed by, his mind whirled through a storm of adolescent, conflicting emotions. He partly longed to be her friend, and be gentle with her. But another urge made him wish to simply own her. Possess her.



Make insane love to her…



She passed by, eyes downcast, unable to understand the strange language, but acutely aware of the dark thrust.  The daily gauntlet, that made going home such a fearful, demoralizing  pursuit.

At the school windows, an older woman, sadly, watched the daily ritual. Her younger teacher colleagues no longer shared her outrage. They were more inclined to shrug their shoulders. There was nothing could be done about it. So why worry?  In the past, many times, the school had called the cops. The Police then might or might not -eventually- put in a weary appearance. And try and look stern. Wag a finger. With increasing difficulty, clear the area. And then Law Enforcement would leave. Within minutes, Islam, the religion of Peace, would be back on station. Undaunted. Mocking. Cat calling. Sticking their tongues out. Literally and figuratively.

The fact that they had little to nothing else to do, apart from a little drug dealing, or some petty larceny, might have confirmed, to a neutral observer, the truth of the old adage about 'idle hands'. Here then were, indeed, all the devil's tools abundantly in evidence. From idle hands to a singular lack of their own female partners, an absence of work, Swedish language classes that were way too difficult, and a general sense of envy, bitterness and resentment.

In this Devil's workshop there warred not merely an assortment of well worn tools, but a recurring dual theme that was 1400 years old. On the one hand, a taught, indeed, zealously imposed sense of absolute cultural and religious superiority over all dirty unbelievers.

On the other hand, the infuriating truth of raw observation of the hard, cold facts.

Those facts being firstly that the dirty unbelievers were not merely content in their vile unbelief, but -unbelievably- quite at peace within that state. And if that outrage was not bad enough, the second aspect of that resentment was the wealth and power that was concentrated in those very unbeliever hands!

But Allah, in his Mercy, (Blessed be his Name!), had seen fit to right many of those wrongs. A Muslim might smile. His knowledge of History was far superior to that of the vile Kaffeer.

A Muslim's History lived. It breathed.

He knew. It was just a matter of time. Had not vast areas of the world already been steadily cleansed of the impure? Their dirty, conniving tribes, clans and families consigned to the ashes? Never to be heard from again? Had not the treacherous, scheming Armenians, 1.500.000 of them, as late as 1917, tasted the full wrath of the righteous?



Allahu Akbar!  



Allah, in His Mercy, (Blessed be his Name!), would right all these wrongs. It was just a matter of time…



*                 *               *              *                   *



      The three vans that screeched to a halt outside the school gates, drew puzzled glances, but no alarm. Even when the doors were thrown open, the ogling brigade merely looked. But when the black balaclavas erupted forth and charged, wielding pickaxe handles, their intent unmistakable, the mood changed instantly. In the mad panic to flee, screams of pains and the dull whack of Hickory on skulls alternated with curses and much wailing. Those unfortunate enough to trip and fall were shown no mercy.

A volley of vicious blows reduced Mohammed, Youssef and Omar from cat-calling heroes to stumbling, tripping, arms flailing, long distance sprint champions in a matter of seconds.

Behind the school windows, an older lady teacher, eyes opened wide in shock, observed everything.



*                 *               *                   *                    *



     The hysterical outrage had been instant. Local newspapers, never mind the wider, so-called 'Liberal' Media had seized on the school gates beat down as a terrible example of Islamophobia at its very worst. It was, of course, the work of violent white supremacists, neo-Nazis and dangerous Fascists.  It would be opposed by the full weight of Government, and the combined Forces of Law and Order. After all, such violence represented a terrible blow to the crucial goal of cultural integration. The attack on peace loving immigrants, and unfortunate refugees, merely going about their daily business, exposed to the whole world the barbarism and Violent Nationalism that yet lingered, sadly, in the dark corners of an otherwise enlightened and Progressive Sweden.

      Three of the victims, still in hospital with cracked skulls, wrapped in bloody bandages, were propped up in bed gingerly by solicitous nurses, and interviewed on local television. Tearfully, they professed their great love for Sweden and the Swedish people. They had, they said, been merely on the way to the Mosque, to pray, and found themselves viciously and without warning set upon by cruel predators. But they forgave, of course.



It was Islam's way to forgive.



The TV Director had then given the 'cut' and remarked:

     "Good! Excellent. We got all that. Tear-jerker. Perfect."

None of the bystanders had noticed the faint, crafty smile playing around the hovering Imam's lips.  He also was satisfied. His careful coaching beforehand had once again, paid magnificent dividends.



None of the Media made any reference to the school, the persistent problem of girls being harassed, the sexual innuendos and the ceaseless loitering. There was no mention of Muslim grooming gangs, skyrocketing rape statistics, or the objectification of young girls' bodies.  Nor would such an input have been wise.



For without a doubt, in multicultural, force-fed Sweden, it would have been, very simply phrased…



Not merely Career Ending.



More like Career Obliterating.













Last edited by Francis Meyrick on June 2, 2018, 11:48 am


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