The Last Stand

1.

I fell down on the concrete, unable to withstand the excruciating pain on my left hand. Crimson blood was dripping from just below the elbow, giving my fingers a warm, soaking sensation. Just a few moments ago, a bullet went straight through my wrist, shattering the bones. My left hand is probably done for; sniper's bullet is not so forgiving.

But I am still fortunate. I wasn't actually the target it seemed. the small boy running next to me was the special prize. We were running a little too closely, along with hundreds of other protestors, when the Police APC started firing from the machine gun. It was not one or two warning shots, No; it was raining fire on us, on the so called 'Armed Protestors'. Carrying your motherland's flag on a stick is considered armed in this country. Although if you chant the fascist words, you get a free pass to carry any weapon you like. Three cheers for government!

The boy crumbled on the side of the road right after i felt the searing pain on my left side. As I was falling down, I looked back; I just had to. A Lonely bullet from the right side can only mean one thing, a damned sniper. The boy's tiny head had a large bloody hole on the right side, the neck was broken from the impact. His innocent eyes still bearing the fear of death, his cheeks covered with foam of tear gas. This young one was not on the front line, I am sure of it. We tried to keep children out of the street since the curfew began. He probably sneaked out of his home to see the protest, to cheer on the 'elder brothers'. Foolish child. Mortal angels should not be present in the battlefield of humans and demons. Holding my left hand, I had to run again. This boy along with hundreds of others, are dead and there's nothing I can do about it.

This sizzling pain was increasing by the second. I entered a deserted alleyway along with four other protestors. I focused my blurry vision on the alleyway. Only 5 of us were stranded here, the other protestors were nowhere to be seen. The main street was now devoid of living beings. One of the fellow protestors, a young man around my age came towards me immediately. He poured water over my wound and began covering it with gauze to stop the bleeding. As the gauze was being tightly wrapped around my forearm, I held back my tears. It was so torturous, but his heart was in the right place. His face had soft features. He was inspecting the wound through his round frame glasses, his eyes were showing strong resolve. He told me not to worry and that this wound will be healed in no time. His voice and hands, both were shaking. A few days ago, one of my friends mentioned that, Medical colleges had already started freshman classes. I doubt that this young man is a medical student, let alone a medical personnel. From what I know, A broken hand with wounds should be handled with care and definitely not wrapped around tightly with bandages. I smiled at him pitifully. Sometimes, it's only the goodwill that matters. He asked me to make a run for the nearest clinic whenever i get the chance. They will stay here and do what they can. I held back my laughter. Private clinics are not taking any patients with bullet wounds and the path to the nearest government hospital is swarming with paramilitary. They have a 'shoot on sight' order. Even these alleyways are not safe. Fascist dogs are parading through the alleyways of this cursed city. Some of them are carrying military-grade firearms, the rest are carrying newly made sharp weapons. The smithies were on overtime since the protest blew up on the government's face. Spending money on weapons is easier than granting jobs.

Fear brings the nightmares; we heard the cursed slogan of fascists. Hard to believe that these same words empowered our national heroes in the past, gave hope to the people. Now, these words just amplified my pain and fear; the tear gas foam that i had been ignoring since this morning, felt like molten metal on my neck and face. With my blurry vision, i could see that the others were panicking as well. With nowhere to run, We might get slaughtered by the police and fascist dogs. The youngest one among us, a high school student with anime t-shirt, covered his face with his hands and started whimpering. Continuously shivering, he began calling for his mother. The middle aged man with flag bandana warned him to stay quiet. I wish i could reassure the boy. But the situation is actually bad and I might throw up if i try to utter any word. Tall guy with a mustache was calling someone and asking for directions. this alleyway was too narrow for two cars to pass side by side. All the small shops were closed as this was a red zone of protest. The buildings on this alleyway looks newly built, incomplete on the sides. Why is my luck so bad today? This means there was no one inside whom we could ask for help. Damn my luck, damn this stupid alleyway, damn those bastard cops, damn that son of a bitch sniper, damn that fascist whore.

DAMN EVERYTHING.

The machine gun firing has stopped on the main street it seems, but random shots could still be heard. The sound of slogans were getting closer. We might have to run out of the alleyway. The amateurish bandage was seeping blood right now, droplets were falling on my t-shirt. I finally observed the rest of my body. My favorite grey pant was torn from the right knee to the leg opening, displaying a long but shallow cut, trickling blood over my navy-blue tennis shoe. the left side of my pants were darkened by the blood from my bullet wound. My black t-shirt was soaking wet from the sweat and blood. I might fall unconscious any time now. Excessive blood loss , fatigue, dehydration and fear. Three of these were encouraging me to black out while the remaining one was kicking my brain. Why is the fear of death so strong? I was worried about whether I'd survive the incoming onslaught even though I can barely keep my eyes open. the tall guy's voice seemed so distant suddenly, i couldn't hear any slogan or gunshots. Every sound was slowly fading. My head felt so light.

They appeared. 15-20 of them, just a hundred meters away. Most of them were teenagers. brandishing machete and cleavers. the two on the front looked older than twenty. The one on the right had a pump action shotgun. I recognized it from the games. It could break a person in half if the shell was to hit from close range. All of them looked so angry. What are they so raged about? They were the ones with weapons, they were the ones killing us while police provided them support. They were swearing loudly and began charging at us. Do they feel like heroes? Cleansing Motherland from traitors should make anyone feel good.

My body automatically moved, my back gave me strength as I started running at the opposite direction, towards the main street. Fear is a great adrenaline booster, I guess.The tall guy and the middle aged man got a head start. I looked back, the guy with glasses was falling behind as he was pulling anime-shirt boy. Everything went dead silent. I halted and stood right there as I looked over his shoulder nonchalantly, watching the bastard with shotgun aim at his back.

2.

Sun was burning my face as I was plodding towards the west street. Destination is the hospital. My left shoe had torn, the pinky was touching the scorching concrete street with every step. I don't know how I am still going on. The left side of my back had A deep, gruesome cut. The backside of my body had become the wall for a blood spring. I couldn't even feel it anymore, so that doesn't matter. One of the fascist dogs had caught up with me after they were done with anime-shirt boy. His machete took a sweet, clean nibble on my back. That helped me speed up. When I looked back, I think I saw him smile for a moment.

My mouth felt bloody. I tried to spit, only blood came out. Courtesy of a concrete chunk, on which I tripped over, just a minute ago. This street was deserted. Not a single living being is on the street. the building's windows have some spectators; some children and their families. Are they stupid? Don't they know that snipers were firing relentlessly? Some were recording with the phone camera. They will be useful when the internet connections are restored. But they will not be useful for me. Nor for the dead woman on the sidewalk.

My legs felt so heavy as if I were wearing shoes made of rock. But I couldn't stop. If I stopped, I'd fall and I'd lose my consciousness. There is no one to wake me up. I have to stay awake. My eyes were watering from the smoke of burning cars and piles of wood.

This protest will probably succeed, even if not right away. Too many has lost their lives. The national broadcasting medias will try to present a reduced number. But the world needs to know. The world needs to know about the fascist government that turned a logical protest into a blood storm.

Another body appeared in my sight. A man in his mid-twenties, sprawled over the concrete, his phone is right next to him. 5 or 6 bullet holes on his upper body. His eyes half open, as if he was looking at the angel of death when his soul went to afterlife. "Meeting the angel of death" sounds terrifying. But how do warriors still fight with fatal wounds, knowing there end is approaching. How can the warriors smile when they are about to depart?

The phone rang. The ringtone was beautiful, nice rhythm and relaxing. I think It's from a song, I've heard it before. I'll set it as my alarm ringtone after I wake up from my next sleep. I glanced at the phone without slowing down my pace, I did not dare to stop. My chest felt heavy as I read the caller name, "Mom".

Just how much grief and rage will she feel when she learns about her son's death. Her curse will damn the afterlife of the demons that ended her son's precious life.

I kept on walking with trembling legs. I couldn't feel my left hand anymore. It was slumping on the left side, casually hitting the left side of my body. I was closing in on the hospital. I could see some figures and vehicles in the distance. I don't know if they are friendly or not; it doesn't matter. The moving figures looked like bugs, just walking around aimlessly.

As I was closing in on the bugs, I noticed they were not bugs at all. These were paramilitary units. They were carrying long weapons in their hands. Two APCs, one green and one blue were facing towards me. the green one had a gunner on top of it, handling a machine gun. the blue one's gun stand was empty. It is amusing how the 'mighty' paramilitary looks like bugs. They might give me some bonus rounds of bullets if i called them 'bugs'.

My right leg twitched. I almost fell over. Why now? I was so close. I will be able sleep, they most likely won't be able to give me a bed, too many people were bitten by bugs and dogs. I need to get there, but this bugs probably won't let me go. They will shoot me or just bash my head and load me in the truck full of corpses. I couldn't see any truck though. That elevates my chance of survival. My chance would've elevated further if I had bug spray. I laughed, loudly. I heard my own voice for the first time since i got shot. I never knew my voice was so beautiful. I should be a singer. I want to be a singer. I imagined myself rocking the stage while crowd chanted my name.

One of the bugs poured water over my burning imagination. I glanced at him, just 20 meters away. A shiny black muzzle was pointed at my chest. Was that supposed to scare me? The paramilitary was saying something. I couldn't understand what he is saying, I didn't even want to understand. I am going to keep walking. As I took the next step I saw the black muzzle flash an orange fire. For the second time today, I felt the searing pain. It was on my right shoulder; slowly, blood was coming out of it. I was on my knees. I have stopped walking; I was done for. I am going to die from bug bites.

I refuse to accept this. My vision became clearer. I finally saw the shooter's face. He looked angry, and he was cursing at me, calling me names, ordering me to stand down. But why does he look so pitiful? Why does he look cornered? I am the one on my knees, he is the one holding a sub-machine gun. Why do I feel like I am tormenting him? Why are his eyes full of fear?

All of a sudden, I remembered. I remembered who I was and why I came out here on the street today. I remembered why my hand was bleeding. I remembered the little boy. I remembered why the young man with glasses was carrying bandages and why the fascist dog was carrying a shotgun. I remembered the burning sensation of tear gas and the police who fired it. I remembered the reason why thousands of people came out on the street and why the Internet was shut down. I remembered the first martyrs and what they were protesting for. I will not bow down to the entitled fascists.

I stood up, for one last time. If I fall down, I will never be able to stand again. I slowly raised my right hand in the air, I couldn't feel the pain on my shoulder. The sizzling sensation was gone. I looked at him dead in the eye, enjoying the dread in his eyes. My dry lips slowly curved into a smile.

As the muzzle flashed once more, the dread in his eyes was being replaced with disbelief.