Free The Screaming Eagles by Michael Lawrence Kahn

thirty-three. These were the ninety-nine Tributes to God, praising God at all times, always held in the right hand, the hand of righteousness.
    By now he was writhing in pain. His head throbbed and ached as lightheadedness returned, and with it the devil mocking his pain. Michael spat on the floor near the shoes of the man sitting on his right drawing a sharp stare from the man as he sat primly on his seat picking at his teeth while his wife and children sat on the floor. Grabbing the man’s elbow he squeezed it hard. Alarmed, the man turned toward Michael who squeezed harder, put his mouth next to the man’s ear and hissed, “Agha, I am a madman that has a devil that sits on my shoulder. I was released from an insane asylum this very morning. It is with pride I say I am truly crazy, and, I enjoy, killing people. If you do not give me a container to piss into right now, I will piss on your suitcases, over your clothes and put you on the floor, hold you down and piss in your ugly loathsome face. Do I get a container now or do I start pissing, you sniveling piece of shit?” The man’s mouth opened and shut, blowing like a fish, his eyes bulging. He turned to his wife furiously “Stupid fool, give this man an empty bottle, quick, any bottle. Don’t look at me like that, woman, must I beat you first? Give me that Pepsi bottle there, that one on the floor.”
    Michael grabbed the bottle from her outstretched hand, unzipped his pants and started urinating. Embarrassed, the woman turned away from him. Urine unable to flow dribbled out slowly, causing him so much pain that he groaned. He gritted his teeth, for the pain was excruciating as he continued dribbling slowly into the bottle.
    It took a long time to fill the bottle. When it overflowed, he continued to urinate on the floor oblivious of people staring at him. Eventually he opened his eyes and saw the disgust and loathing on their faces. Looking at them he smiled closed his eyes and continued pissing.
    Many hours had passed. Michael drifted in and out of sleep. Most people were asleep. He felt lightheaded again, pleased, relaxed and so very happy. The Devil was happy too, they continued to laugh together. She was still sitting lightly on his shoulder comfortable and at ease. He suddenly realized that if the Devil wore a chador, she must be a woman. This would be his or her very own secret, no one else would know that the Devil was a woman. He started to smile at the fact that he had a secret, a devilish secret. Every religion thought that God was a man. Everyone thought the Devil was also a man, only Michael knew the truth. The enormity of this revelation was breathtaking. Laughter took control of his body. Small personal giggles at first. He tried to laugh quietly, but couldn’t. His body shook, twitching and trembling while he fought to control it, wondering how far he was in T.R.O.D., how far down the pathway had he traveled on “The Road of Dreams.” He was sure he had never reached this depth of plateau before. Michael was scared. All his life he’d been a leader, not a follower. He had been a tower of strength. He knew he was falling apart. Unashamedly he acknowledged that he was rapidly approaching a nervous breakdown.
    In his military training, he’d learned that sleep deprivation and lack of food were the surest way to break down any enemy. When physical and mental faculties starve, the brain and body break down rapidly, it was starting to happen to him, and he was powerless to stop it. He could feel himself moving toward insanity. Demons were fighting in his brain, overpowering him and taking possession as he struggled to stop laughing.
    Tears started streaming down his cheeks, overflowing. He had no control and his body shook. He felt himself urinating again in his pants. It was warm and comforting as it ran along his thigh. He could smell the urine and knew that all those sitting near him could also smell it.
    He didn’t care.
    *
    At six o’clock in the