They roar their fury to the heavens. Hurled bottles explode in flame to whooping choruses of cheers from the mob. Standing firm against the onslaught of rage, black clad officers rally against the press of bodies. Plastic shields deflecting the bricks and bottle missiles. Tear gas, water guns and smoke grenades fire into the crowd, driving them back with efficient ruthlessness.
The people’s rage cannot be denied. Broken into smaller groups they strike at the line again and again. Shifting from a single overwhelmingly large crowd into innumerable smaller more mobile groups. They hover a safe distance from the line, an amorphous crowd of anger, arbitrarily forming into militant fists and charging.

The clash has continued for days, morale and fatigue cracks the military and police line. The makeshift masks have grown familiar. The line grows thinner every day as reinforcements simply do not return with each loss the furious crowd is bolstered, swelling in the face of continued resistance.
Within the parliament convenes to approve the use of harsher actions against the crowd. The order for live rounds is the straw that finally broke the camels back.
Fire upon your families, kill your friends without mercy! The soldiers are well trained and a great many obey. In the first wave of fire hundreds fall, a massacre. Screams of terror and rage fill the night. A country bleeds…

That night the country died. The line broke at last. Some soldiers refused to fire. Others succumbed to the last desperate retaliation of the grief-stricken civilians. Weapons changed hands as those who held the line were driven back. A clash of bodies becoming a fire fight.
By dawn politicians had been strung up, homes and business torn and burned down. The fires that tore through the streets in the wake of the devastation ate the city from the inside out. For a further month fury reigned but eventually even anger found its limit. The death throes of the city lasted another week as people struggled to survive.


“Grandpa, why did the they fight?”

“It’s hard to be sure my son, I was a boy even younger than you back then. My parents were lost in the collapse like everyone else. Likely it was due to greed. Such things so often are.”

“But, why?”

“It is human nature, to have what we need and want more. Greed will drive us to take and take until there is nothing left.”

“I don’t understand, Grandpa”

“Neither do I boy,” the old man nods sympathetically, placing a tough wrinkled hand on the boys shoulder, “Neither do I”

The light from the campfire flickered weakly from the makeshift brazer. They hadn’t eaten that day, and didn’t haven any guarantee they would eat tomorrow. So many years since the fall and the struggle to survive had only grown harder. The winters seemed longer, and colder. The summers seemed inhospitable and filled with malice. Nothing could grow beneath the paved soil of the city and it had been decades since relief had come. Perhaps the rest of the world had died that night too. Not even Grandpa knew, and with each night he grew quieter about the future.

Author: Zairron

I'm writing to build a habit, practice, and be creative.

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