I gasp for air, clinch my sheets, and wipe the perspired fear off my face as I begin to realize it was all a dream.  The memories begin to resurface from their suppressed black abyss.  My mind begins to play memories of blood being splattered against walls of churches and children being blown into the streets from the radius of bombs in the sight of their parents.  I swallow hard and try to hold back the tears.  Attempting to fall back to sleep, my mind begins to race with all the evil that runs through the streets of my country.  In the distance I can hear gunshots, and with each fired shot I slowly gripped my pillow tighter.  Iran has become a horrid place since the dirty Americans showed up. 
    I wake up a bit earlier than usual to listen to the radio.  Today is an important day, for yesterday there was a large gathering at the American embassy and there was gossip of heroic martyrs going to show the non-believers the power of our god.  The man on the radio tells of blood of the non-believers running through the streets and watering the tree of Islam.  The tone of his voice speaks with great intensity and deep motives of eliminating all that doesn't comply with his country's beliefs.  One day I wish to possibly join the military and die in the name of Iran and my god, but I was still three years too young.  The intensity of his voice matches the intensity of my blood racing through my veins to destroy the Americans that came and destroyed my land and killed my people.  I shut off the radio and begin walking to school.  My feet brush up against pebbles and dirt as I make my way to school.  As my eyes follow the horizon in search of my school, I see an American soldier pacing in front of an old abandoned bank with a gun in his hand.  My eyes linger on his face as I pass him.  My face reeks of a deep-seeded hatred.  All the white man can do is smile back.  This caught me off guard at first, but I thought it over and the coward wanted no trouble,thus he returned only a gesture of good intentions. 
    As soon as I arrived at school, I walked to the meeting hall to hear what our principal had to say for the day.  The student body sat and chatted about the victory at the American embassy.  The principal walked across the stage and came to the mic.  He greeted the student with a speech about the holy promises of martyrdom. 
    “Those who die in the name of our lord, our country, and our pride live in eternal peace.  Let all those who oppose our beliefs, all those who tell us we are wrong, and those who think our...”
    -“Death to America!”
    “...religion is a joke, let them be shown that we’re right through death!  Many martyrs died yesterday.  Have peace of mind knowing that they are now spending their days with our god, but do not allow their deaths to be in vain.  We must win our holy war!  While the gods and martyrs watch us and send us their blessings, we must continue to push towards a victory!”
    I begin to think of the rush that the Iranian soldiers must have felt at the American embassy.  My mind begins to fill with the images of blood, victory, the fallen martyrs, and the sorrow of the martyrs families - and then I begin to think of the man I saw on my way to school. 
    Throughout the entire day there was confabulation of the martyrs, and I was yet as excited as my fellow students, but I couldn’t shake off the strange feelings of the white American man in front of the abandoned bank and his family.  I just began to think that he was borne of mother and a father, he has a woman that loves him, and possibly children that await his return.  Sitting and staring at the ceiling, I begin to fall into a deep thought. 
    I walk out of my school doors and began to make my way home.  Once again as I strolled home, I ran across the American man again.  There he stood with his M16 rifle walking in hope to kill anoth- I stopped myself mid-thought.  Although my religious mind is telling me not to talk to him, my logical mind is beginning to tell me confront him and ask him a few questions.  I began to cross the road to approach him but a car came in between him and I, so I just rushed home and left it to another day. 
    I arose to the sun beaming through cracks in my window and the sweet smell of rice made fresh by my mother.  My mother was never an advocate of the war but she didn’t dare to tell a soul.  Iranians believed if you weren’t for the war against the non-sacred people of America, then you supported America and were against Iran and Islam.  My mother was a tall, dark-skinned, black-haired woman who would never want to see her only child die in a pointless war.  She always warned me that if i joined the army she would kill herself so that she wouldn’t have to see her fifteen year old angel die.  I finish my rice and begin to make my way to way to school.  I take another road to school to avoid the American man.  As I walk along the street, I stop at a local fruit bar as a radio blurs it’s news out. 
    “I have just received news that an American has sent a video of himself desecrating the Qu’ran.  We are aware that the leaders in the White House are against our god and the Qu’ran.  They call themselves Christian but they are foolish liars!  The White House needs to be destroyed.”
    I block out the propaganda. Why should one mans actions represent an entire nation, and even more cause a war.  The knowledge of this just fries my mind into frustration.
    Walking into the meeting hall, I hear that the principal is already talking.  It turns out the road I took was a lot longer than anticipated.  I rush to the closest empty seat and get on my knees.  I begin to pray, but as I pray my stomach begins to feel empty and my heart feels as if it is caving into my soul. 
    All day during school I couldn’t help but think about the American man again, so when the school came to a close I worked up the courage to come up to the man and say hello.  The man returns a hello and a smile. I was surprised the man spoke Prussian very fluently.  I asked him his name, and he told me it was Allen, and with that we began to share information about our lives.  I learned that although our cultures were different we still had similarities.  He enjoyed spending time with his family, he had a certain girl that he had kept his eye on since the eighth grade, and most importantly he and I both felt the same about the war.  We stood on the sidewalk for hours. I lost track of the time, but when I saw the sun hitting the horizon with it’s orange fist I knew I needed to go home.  I rushed home in hope that my mom wouldn’t be too worried.  When I arrived home, my mother is sitting in the kitchen making dinner with a smile on her face.  She asked me where I had been and I simply answered that I had been with some friends.  I didn’t want to worry her, because both of us knew that speaking to an American was very dangerous.  As I put my head down for rest that night, I had a warm feeling knowing that I wasn’t the only person that thought this war was pointless. 
    The warm sun hit my face slowly poking my shoulder to wake up.  I jump on my feet, eat, and head out the door.  I walk down the street and pass by an old residential newspaper stand, and I take a glance at today’s headline, “Americans Ask for More.”  The sheer stupidity make me wonder about the future.  I begin to get closer to the bank and as I turn the corner there is Allen.  I stop and tell him good morning, and he asks me what all I have planned for today.  I begin to tell him about my daily routine but he cuts me off and tells me I need to get moving or else I’ll be late.  I look at the time and he is right, so i begin to run to school.  After running for about a block a man pulls me from behind a building and drags me behind the building with him.  I can’t see the man pulling me, all I can see is are my are my feet hopelessly being dragged against their will.  My feet begin to raise off the ground and then my head hits a hard wall.  My eye sight is very fuzzy with tears and pain, but I manage to see black mask and two men with weapons. I try to compose myself but the man just kicks my face back causing more pain.
    “Anyone commits treason against Iran should be killed.”
    While I look down the barrel of the gun, I realize the evils of war.