The Farrakhan Park
The Farrakhan Park, which lies in the heart of Beirut, Lebanon, was once a blithesome grassland that consisted of every tool and toy of joy that could drive any child to rename the park “their home”. The air carried a light scent of gardenias and green apples, the sound of children’s laughter distributed itself among the whole park. The sun hung high in the sky as it rested on a soft bed of white, quilted clouds, waiting patiently until it could surrender to its hiding place. The sun did not beat its mighty rays on the park; it seemed as If it had mercy on the children, as if they were its own offspring. The Farrakhan Park was truly a place of bliss, for children and all alike. It was not until years later that Lebanon was thrust into war against one of its neighboring nations, Israel. This war was the cause of the bombing of Farrakhan Park, which left Sons, Daughters, Mothers, Fathers, Brothers, and Sisters all dead. The Park was now a stone-dead, barren, waste land. The grass was no longer green, and good smelling but dark and decayed. The swing sets, and jungle gyms were demeaned to a pile of rusty scraps. The smell of cold iron and dirt filled the air. This was no longer a place of bliss but of doom and despair, this was a graveyard.
When we were ten years old my friends and I heard rumors of Farrakhan Park, we heard that it was home of every poor soul that died in that park the fateful day of the Farrakhan bombings. We also heard that the spirits only came out at night and if anyone were to trespass on their territory after midnight, all the spirits would chain them to the ground, take turns at feasting on their intestines, and then the victims would be forced to roam the ruins of Farrakhan Park for eternity! My friends and I believed that we were not afraid of anything, we thought that as long as we had a pair of male genitals, we were unbeatable. We took the challenge of going to Farrakhan...
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