WA 5 Second Draft

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/01/18/AR2008011802663.html



December 4th, 2006. 5:43 P.M. 



Jeff Wroten knelt outside the hospital room and prayed. Muslim chants he recited every day since he was a boy. Face to the cool, citrus-scented linoleum, hands clasped tightly beneath his forehead. 



قال الله تعالى:
يَا أَيُّهَا
الَّذِينَ ءامَنُواْ إِذَا قُمْتُمْ إِلَى الصَّلاةِ فاغْسِلُواْ وُجُوهَكُمْ وَأَيْدِيَكُمْ إِلَى الْمَرَافِقِ وَامْسَحُواْ

بِرُؤُوسِكُمْ وَأَرْجُلَكُمْ إِلَى الْكَعْبَينِ



His lips hummed the words of the Koran over and over until the prayer was complete and the morning devotions were finished. Jeff stood, removed his tazcat, returned his holster to the belt of his stiff black pants and resumed his post, back to the door of his charges room. Despite the weapon he carried, he was defenseless to the man behind the thin hospital wall.



With a crash, Brandon Morris leapt from his bed, opened the door, yanked the un-expecting guard’s gun from its holster and shot Jeff in the back of the head. Brandon hobbled away, his injured leg dragging behind him. Jeff lay on the ground, blood pooling around his lifeless body, to be discovered moments later by the terrified nurses down the hall. 



Brandon got away. He hijacked a taxi cab and drove west through Georgetown. He is still out there. To him, freedom was worth stabbing himself in his leg to be sent to a hospital where he knew only one officer would be on guard, and killing an innocent man who had never done him any harm.

WA 5 Rough

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/01/18/AR2008011802663.html

December 4th, 2006. 5:43P.M.

Jeff Wroten knelt outside the hospital room and prayed. Muslim chants he recited every day since he was a boy. Face to the cool, citrus-scented linolium, hands clasped tightly beneath his forehead.

قال الله تعالى:
يَا أَيُّهَا الَّذِينَ ءامَنُواْ إِذَا قُمْتُمْ إِلَى الصَّلاةِ فاغْسِلُواْ وُجُوهَكُمْ وَأَيْدِيَكُمْ إِلَى الْمَرَافِقِ وَامْسَحُواْ
بِرُؤُوسِكُمْ وَأَرْجُلَكُمْ إِلَى الْكَعْبَينِ

His lips hummed the words of the Koran over and over until the prayer was complete and the morning devotions were finished. Jeff stood, removed his tazcat, returned his holster to the belt of his stiff black pants and resumed his post. Back to the door of his charges room. Despite the weapon he carried, he was defensless to the man behind the thin hospital wall.

With a crash, Brandon Morris leapt from his bed, the door and shot Jeff in the back of the head. Brandon hobbled away, his injured leg dragging behind him. Jeff lay on the ground, blood pooling around his lifeless body, to be discovered moments later by the terrified nurses down the hall.

Brandon got away. He hijacked a taxi cab and drove west through Georgetown. He is still out there. To him, freedom was worth stabbing himself in his leg to be sent to a hospital where he knew only one officer would be on guard, and killing an innocent man who had never done him any harm.