The Protest....

     There I was, it was like waking up from a half sleep, I’m in the front of the line my breath is trapped by the impromptu “gas mask” I made for myself my only protection from the chemicals the are so willing to use on me is nothing more a cheap handkerchief hastily tied around my nose and mouth.
   
    I feel the crowd surge behind me as I stare past the reflection of his face shield past the balaclava and into this man’s eyes. They seem cold and piercing, so much hate. What makes me different than him? At one point I thought about becoming an officer of the law. That seems so long ago, before I realized the law is only determined by the corrupt people that are willing to write them in knowing full well they are the criminals for doing so.

    Suddenly I am pulled from my thoughts as I feel the crowd push again, I feel the air is tense with a sense of dread, like the eerie calm before the storm hits, I see his leather gloved hand tighten around the rubber griped metal club that they are “legally” allowed to use on unarmed civilians. I look to my left as I hear someone yell “Gas!” I can hear the pop of canisters going off in the crowd around me. As I turn to get away from the chemicals, which now burns painfully in my eyes and throat, I see my friend fall to the ground as I stop to help him up and suddenly I hear a faint ringing as everything turns black.

    My vision starts to come back to me as I become dimly aware that I am sitting on the sidewalk with my back against a faded and cracked brick wall of some nameless building, the ringing in my ears has subsided to a faint hum, my friend is sitting next to me smoking a cigarette his hands shaking as he tries to offer me some. I decline as I reach up to feel the back of my throbbing head. I find I am bleeding, not much, but enough to tell me that my friend behind the face shield had decided that helping my friend from the ground had been cause enough to use a glorified metal club on me. Funny how things go, I went there for peace and was met with violence, and yet it was reported that we, the unarmed protesters, had provoked the conflict, but fortunately the police were able to stem the protest and keep peace.

    I sit in this dirty unknown street and think why did we do this? Did it accomplish anything? I subjected my body to chemical and physical abuse, and did we have anything to show for it? Then a moment of clarity hit me, through the pain, through the noise of the street, and through the confusion. I did this to stand up for what I believe in, for what I think is right, I did this to show that I would take there abuse to show that I am not scared and will  not back down or fade into the darkness and hide.









-Rusty