Al Qusayr, Syria; Doctors Without Borders

4

grabbed me by my shirt collar and lifted me up. I remember saying something around the lines of, "What the!?" All he said in his heavily accented english was, "American Spy." My eyes widened, I knew that the Assad government was heavily suspicious toward Americans, some people more than others.

The man took me into the back room of the house and threw me against the wall. I sunk into it, still shook with fear. The man, hurled his fist into my face. I immediately felt blood coming from my throbbing nose. The man was covered with a gruff beard, his face was round and plump but still very muscular. His arms were covered in hair and muscle. The perfect soldier, also the worst kind of captor. After a few more punches to my ribs and face he left the room probably for his car keys so he could wheel me off. I knew I couldn't escape.

Suddenly my fear was replaced with hate. Why had this man tried to kidnap me? I had done nothing to him. A new kind of hate filled my bloodstream. A kind of hate that craved bitter vengeance. I lay my hand on my pocket and felt the cold of the metal of my medical tools, then I remembered, my scalpel. The old me would never have thought of such brutal a weapon but this was different. This was life or death.

I slid the sharp operating knife obscurely into my hand and waited. Eventually he came over to me and began to haul me up by the scruff of my neck. This was the moment I lashed out, my scalpel sliced through the air and it settled on his forearm. Immediately, a deep gash ran down his arm, in the moment where he clutched his arm I had bolted, I was out the door and running down the street in seconds.