Pigs snorted and rolled around the mud pits of the Bachien, the Arabian farmers poking and prodding at them with metal sticks. The rain crackled against thatch housing and the thunder boomed across the overcast skyline. A storm was coming. Both literally and figuratively.
Fawz El-Zakaria sat on a wooden chair, sipping on fancy wine bought from a smuggler underground. Tapestries whipped around on his walls from the wind that pushed through the open windows of Fawz home. The mudbrick floor was dotted with patches of white and purple carpeting. A fireplace sat in the center, the newly chopped wood burning in it. An old radio was perched near Fawz bed, the man on it speaking of the weather.
Fawz himself was dressed in traditional Arabic clothing, a white Thawb and black slippers on his feet. Although he was one of the few non-Muslims living in the Arabian country of Bachien, he still felt obliged to follow the clothing culture. His black knotted hair was covered by a green Turban. Fawz had green eyes with sunglasses covering them, and a large survivalist beard, colored a chocolate color.
He finished his wine and then stood up, walking over to the radio and listening closely as it switched from the weather reports.
“In other news, great people of Bachien. The Germans have docked several warships and U-boats around our ports. They threaten to invade if we do not give them what they want. They are looking for an American man by the name of Conrad Vlokstan, who is supposedly living in the capital of Bachien! Cowards...All of them! We will rip our own land apart looking for this...thi- this Infidel! People of Bach-” Fawz clicked the radio off and closed his eyes for a second.
Fawz stood up and walked over to his front door, stepping out and looking around. Already men in black Thawb patrolled down the road with bolt-action rifles in hand, ready to take the American into custody. Fawz glanced down as one of them started to speed walk over to him, when they got a few feet away Fawz started to sprint off down the sand gritted road.
He heard them yelling words in Arabic like “Infidel!” and “Pig!” He turned right into an alleyway, hearing the click of the rifles behind him. Then the loud bang-crack of a bullet whizzing by his ear. Fawz continued his run, until reaching a fence in the alleyway, with two wood boards placed above to stop people from climbing it. He’d been found out it seemed, just from running they must of noticed his pale skin and thought he was the American they were looking for at the time.
The click of the rifles once more filled the air, as did more yelling. Before Fawz could turn around, he felt the cold metal barrel of a rifle touch his back and a man shout at him to show him his hands. Spittle was dripping from the man’s mouth as he shouted at Fawz, who slowly turned around and showed his hands.
“I’m clean. I just heard the news on the ra-” A rough fist smashed into his cheek and shut him up, blood coming from his mouth as he closed it. “I was go-” Another hit this time came, a knee to the stomach which sent him tumbling onto the sandy ground.
“I can do this all day” The Policeman said, holstering his rifle and staring into Fawz’s face with piercing brown eyes. A fist clocked Fawz once more, knocking a white tooth to the ground. Fawz, winced and stood up, gaining his courage to break his citizenship vow. The policeman collapsed, a rock smashed against his skull, crushing it and killing the ugly Arabian man instantly.
Gunfire sparked up again, the bullets pinging around Fawz. He knew he was going to die now, he had fought back and now he was going to be killed in some dark alleyway in