Here's a little short story/poem of sorts that I wrote after that happened. It can easily be applied to any rally or protest of any kind, no matter the meaning of said protest. Kind of a generic idea based around the memory of that one incident.TheReactorSings said:
Silence. He looked around. Crowds upon crowds standing still. Waiting. Ahead a row of uniforms stood. All was still. The waiting continued.
Ahead of the crowds the uniforms started to walk. They advanced slowly as the crowds began to shout. The chants and jeers rose in volume until not even the hardest of hearing could fail to understand. The uniforms walked, and the crowds stayed still.
They saw. The crowds waited, calling to their foe, daring them to come closer. Some had weapons, some went without. Some fought with fists, some with words. Some were peaceful and some were angry. It didn?t matter. As they waited for their enemy to arrive they were all in the same place. They were all there to follow the same great purpose.
The uniforms reached them. The crowds began to break as they were pushed back. The great and noble purpose lost as the fights began. But it wasn?t the angry and the ignorant who fought. They had waited for their fate, and now this was their reward for such patience.
They fought back. The uniforms had begun their assault, and now the waiting masses fought for their freedom. Outnumbered and afraid they began to break. One man watched.
He?d been there, unable to escape the coming storm. Watching as the two great forces battled for control of the streets, fought for supremacy. He?d seen the uniforms as they began to hurt and maim their foe to preserve their cause. He?d observed the crowds as they tried to protect their freedom. And then, he died.
It was a uniform who saw him. He?d been there on the edge, neither taking part nor running. The man who had no place. Neither a uniform nor part of the crowd, he?d waited. And he?d watched.
The uniform ran and struck him down. Not a tough blow, but a blow nonetheless. It had caused his heart to burst, his life to flutter and fail right there on that cold hard ground. The man who watched, watched no more.
The crowds saw. They stopped the fighting and turned. They waited. Then they left. And they remembered.
The uniforms saw. They too waited and remembered. They covered it up. An accident, they said. An unfortunate mishap, a casualty of war. And the crowds heard, and cried ?No! He was the greatest of us all. And he shall be remembered.?
And so it was, that he was remembered, and came to usher a new age, and become a beacon of hope and change for those who desired freedom. His life was worth so little, and yet caused so much. And they all watched. They all remembered.
Ahead of the crowds the uniforms started to walk. They advanced slowly as the crowds began to shout. The chants and jeers rose in volume until not even the hardest of hearing could fail to understand. The uniforms walked, and the crowds stayed still.
They saw. The crowds waited, calling to their foe, daring them to come closer. Some had weapons, some went without. Some fought with fists, some with words. Some were peaceful and some were angry. It didn?t matter. As they waited for their enemy to arrive they were all in the same place. They were all there to follow the same great purpose.
The uniforms reached them. The crowds began to break as they were pushed back. The great and noble purpose lost as the fights began. But it wasn?t the angry and the ignorant who fought. They had waited for their fate, and now this was their reward for such patience.
They fought back. The uniforms had begun their assault, and now the waiting masses fought for their freedom. Outnumbered and afraid they began to break. One man watched.
He?d been there, unable to escape the coming storm. Watching as the two great forces battled for control of the streets, fought for supremacy. He?d seen the uniforms as they began to hurt and maim their foe to preserve their cause. He?d observed the crowds as they tried to protect their freedom. And then, he died.
It was a uniform who saw him. He?d been there on the edge, neither taking part nor running. The man who had no place. Neither a uniform nor part of the crowd, he?d waited. And he?d watched.
The uniform ran and struck him down. Not a tough blow, but a blow nonetheless. It had caused his heart to burst, his life to flutter and fail right there on that cold hard ground. The man who watched, watched no more.
The crowds saw. They stopped the fighting and turned. They waited. Then they left. And they remembered.
The uniforms saw. They too waited and remembered. They covered it up. An accident, they said. An unfortunate mishap, a casualty of war. And the crowds heard, and cried ?No! He was the greatest of us all. And he shall be remembered.?
And so it was, that he was remembered, and came to usher a new age, and become a beacon of hope and change for those who desired freedom. His life was worth so little, and yet caused so much. And they all watched. They all remembered.
Note that when I wrote this I was messing around with different writing styles. It was sort of an experimental piece of literature on my part, which explains the style and format that the piece is written in.
