The Revolt begins (PTI)

I've been thinking a lot about recent protests around the world, including my local city, Bristol. Here I explore what happens when government goes too far.

      

Sara joined her eager friends at the café to plan the protest. 200,000 people were expected to accompany them on a peaceful march against their oppressive and near omnipotent Government. The State thought it could control the masses, but the public grew more resistant day by day. They would suffer no longer under the dogmatic censorship constricting their hearts and minds. Man, woman and child would rise up and reclaim their freedom.

Sipping coffee and placing the finishing touches on their placards, the group’s energy was maintained by a bustling energy born from pure adrenaline. This was risky. The Government had guns, armour and even tanks. The two-faced bastards of politics wanted to crush any insurrection.  Corrupt newspapers published daily sheets smeared with hateful propaganda, warning the public that any dissent would be met with force. The gang of youths reasoned that a peaceful protest would show solidarity and bring with it the security of numbers. They planned to split into two groups: one group with the large banner to be hung from the roof of parliament; the other group, Sara’s, with posters to walk the streets and talk to the crowds.

This was it, time to move. Everyone checked they had their supplies. Water bottles, check. Mobile phones, check. Snacks, check. Bandanas in case of gas attacks, check. Solid boots and comfortable clothes were evidently a priority too; the gang looked like they could take on a hiking trip and were ready for anything.

Pull exhilaration grasped them as they entered the paved streets of the city centre. Throngs of people chanted, sang, laughed and shouted. Barricades were being moved by the police, they too were preparing. Shifty-eyed strangers locked gazes with the more outrageous protesters.

“They have their spies”, thought Sara.

Waving goodbye to the roof troop, she set off towards the gates of Parliament. The steel-eyed strangers suddenly turned and moved away quickly from the protesters.

“That’s strange.”

She was used to being watched, active surveillance on her at all times. Practiced at reading suspicious body language, she scanned the crowd. There was movement, yes, but an undercurrent. A flash of fear darted across the eyes of some strangers.

“What are they afraid of? It’s not us, we’re no threat.”

She looked around, spinning in the street, pure instinct taking over.

“Something’s wrong.”

In her hurry, she looked up. Something was falling. Or, rather, someone was falling.  A body just fell from the roof.

“What the fuck?”

It was still too far away to see clearly, but the person had not been alone on the roof. She could make out the straggly outlines of scruffy protestors. They were walking closer and closer to the edge.

“What the fuck are they doing? Some kind of suicide protest?”

She was shocked to the core by this idea. But she was wrong. The protestors were backing away from the police. Some protestors flopped to the ground, shot dead. The rest kept moving, arms up, pleading.

Sara looked about again. High barricades were being positioned all around, closing off the exits.

“This is going to be a massacre.”

She grabbed one of her companions by the arm.

“Come on, we have to go. Now.”

Perplexed, the girl, shoved her off and kept pushing forward, “We can’t turn back now, if we don’t stand up to them no one will”, she said defiantly, unaware of the real danger.

Sara screamed, “They are going to kill us”, but no one stopped, no one listened. Their blind ambition to take on the Government was blinding them to what was going to happen, a blood bath.

It was fight or flight time and Sara knew to fight now would be to die, better to live and fight another day. Turning from her friends, she threw herself at the crowd, shoving past them with all her strength. Knocked to the ground a few times before reaching the barricades, she was battered and breathless. Slipping out through the metal lines, she sat down on the kerb to catch her breath.

A strange silence hushed up against the railings. The city’s streets were empty. Clearly the public had taken the Government’s instructions to heart,  “STAY INDOORS OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES”. Sara could imagine cowardly men and women sitting at home sucking their thumbs and waiting to be told what to do next. Then it struck her, she just took the cowardly way out. How could she, after years of protest and attempts to gain her liberty? She had just walked out of the biggest and most important public event of the decade.

At that moment of self-doubt she heard the first shots, at least the first shots that were close enough to be audible. Semi-automatic weapons were unleashed upon the crowd and they were moving in Sara’s direction. Without pause, she lifted herself up and ran down the deserted streets.

Panic-stricken, she heard screams of the dying and the encroaching shouts of uniformed gunmen.  She needed to hide, but every door was sealed, every gate locked. Around another bend, she saw a large yellow grit box. Desperate to escape the gunmen, she lifted the lid and saw it had not been refilled since Christmas. Crouched inside, she waited, cursing herself for such a terrible hiding place.

Seconds later, sandal-clad feet ran past. Others had escaped the barriers too. Heavy boots followed them.  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bodies slumped to the ground. Shivering in fear, Sara closed her eyes and silently begged them not to find her. Frozen, she lay there for some time, until the air cooled and the screams ended.

At nightfall, she stretched her arm out and cracked the yellow lib open, peering out to scan the streets. Not a soul was left living. Crawling out from the box, she darted in between the shadows and looked back at the Parliamentary buildings. Blood dripped on every surface, congealing in large piles where more than one body had been slaughtered, ripped apart by multiple bullets. Bleary open-eyes showed that gas had been released too. Sara could even see some children had been beaten before execution, their shattered bodies thrown aside like rag dolls.

Surrounded by death, she dipped her head and said a prayer. She needed to get out of the city; that was her only chance of survival.