At the far end of Damascus where blood rivers run red and the streets are all filled with remains of the dead, once lived the Lorax.
The Lorax was peaceful, performing his trade. From truffula trees woven baskets he made.
Life had been quiet until one Arab Spring, when violence and chaos a revolution did bring. The streets that were lined with fig trees and palms now were all filled with bullets and bombs.
The Whos down in Whoville were crying ‘Boo-hoo,’ for Assad had used sarin and gassed their whole crew. They waited on help for a red line had been crossed, but help never showed and the Lorax felt lost. He knew Whoville was the next holocaust.
The Lorax, he knew he must flee this place. “I must go at once, Quickly, make haste.”
He ran to his friend, the Cat in the Hat, and begged him to come before their town was bombed flat.
"We could flee to the east to the Islamic State," said the Cat in the Hat making the Lorax irate.
"No, fuck those guys and their whole caliphate. I'd rather be dead than live among assholes I hate. Plus a pile of rubble will be Al-Raqqah's fate."
"We could flee to the north," said the Cat in the Hat, "and live with the Kurds. What do you think about that?"
"I hate the Kurds, too, For they're always at war, surrounded by blood and surrounded by gore."
“We should then go far west,” said the Cat, right away, “to France or to Belgium or the U. S. of A. We’ll make us a raft and sail the seas blue, along with my wards, Thing 1 and Thing 2.”
“On, then!” said the Lorax “for staying is not good. Find us a sail and some rope and some wood."
They gathered supplies and ran towards the shore, with plans to flee Syria and see it no more.
They ran through the war zone where bodies had rotted, when the Cat in the Hat yelled “Oh no, we’ve been spotted!"
Assad’s troops had seen them and were determined to kill anyone who did not surrender to al-Assad’s will.
A .50 cal round found the Cat in the Hat. It went straight through his head and his brains went ker-splat!
And the mortars they flew and they flew and they flew and the Cat in the Hat’s wards became Mist 1 and Mist 2.
The Lorax kept running with fear in his eyes as rockets and mortars were tracing the skies.
A sniper took aim and shot at the Lorax, and a high-powered round ripped straight through his thorax.
He fell to the ground and screamed “I’ve been shot! Someone please help me, I’m bleeding — a lot!"
The Lorax lay wounded and bleeding to death. He prayed to Allah and drew his last breath.
His eyes then rolled back, back into his head. The Lorax was finished, the Lorax lay dead.
His life had been wasted, for what? No idea. Perhaps no other reason than he was Sunni, not Shia.
Duffel Blog Correspondent Jay contributed to this report.