The three children all wore costumes; the two boys were waving their hollow
plastic lightsabers at each other and the blonde girl -- perhaps as old as
twelve -- was wearing a Batgirl costume and slinging her cape dramatically as
she walked.
A pang of pity lanced through Ahmed, but then he remembered his teachings,
hardened his heart, and severely chastised himself for his momentary weakness.
They were just infidels. Untaught, unholy, and therefore unfit to live. He
moved forward another carlength, and again watched the family in his rearview
mirror as they stood waiting to cross the street.
The blonde girl grinningly faced into the gusting wind to make her cape
billow behind her. Too bad, Ahmed thought appraisingly. The girl might possibly
have been found worthy of conversion to Islam.
Or not, he appended, remembering the dancers at the strip club the night
before. After all, even infidel females were good for purposes of pleasure and
labor. In the pure world that he and other holy martyrs would bring into being,
their children would be raised according to the teachings of the Prophet and the
women would be allowed to live only so long as they dutifully served the
righteous and faithful.
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