Taking custody of the sky were shades of roaring red and bruising purple, growing stronger and deeper as the leash on the sun was slowly let loose. Bodies swarmed from every angle into a singular path. One after another. Side by side. Together. Now, red flashes off of the ever-growing number of faces, reflecting the sun’s rage along with the people’s anger, and pain. Each walker as eager as the daybreak’s sun for drastic change. Messages far too valuable for the cardboard they’re carved on are put on parade finally, by the gripping hands of troops reclaiming their ground. “Impatient.” is what is said? But patience, ‘the ability to withstand suffering without becoming annoyed or anxious’, is irrelevant in the means of a being.

Listen. Whispered murmurs drift into cries. Silence is what held so tightly, bound like rope over unfairly accused mouths for too long. Chants are finally cut free from clenching chains in an era far too delayed. Taking reins of the streets in unison and echoing powerfully through hearts. Thump. Thump. Thump. Buildings of systematic racism tower condescendingly above the crowd, daring those marching forward to keep going. Floors stacked on floors, eagerly lean out in a pathetic attempt to detain the masses below. Hiding frowning faces that mutter “All lives matter.” are glass panes on top stories. Like towers like people, supposedly side by side, ‘equal’, except the few that expect the rest to cower below happily.

Padded vests and respirators and batons and helmets and trucks, guns. All to ‘control’ a wild pack of animals dressed in t-shirts and sneakers who clutch cardboard weapons. Raised fists are greeted with raised weapons. Pale blue masks hide fear. Fear, not of the deadly virus consuming the world but the virus that blurs an officers vision enough to assume that the tissue, in that pocket, is as capable of a killing machine as the gun gripped tightly in hand. Foreheads crease and scowls form when military police foolishly grasp for control they don’t own while desperately begging the sun to say its final goodbyes. Shadows begin to crawl from underneath the roads that are chaotically decorated – like a prison’s walls- with shards of broken glass.

Look. It’s almost impossible. Through consuming clouds of suffocating smoke, eyesight doesn’t offer much, except glowing flames that curl, wrap and pull in people like fuel. A haven of sorts to some- warmth and light in a dark, cold place and to others, nothing but a burning rage of illicit actions. Grudgeful tears are caught by streaks of moonlight as grey haze consumes and devours eyes in a rough demeanour. Ironic. Ironic that the eyes that can see, are the eyes that really cannot see. Hate-filled air hidden in a sooty coat is swallowed by croaking voices that cough mercilessly at the poison attempting to over-rule them. Brave bodies bump and bash into each other as barricades tightly constrict crowds in the dark, bringing them closer and closer until tear-streaked faces become walls and smoke clouds become roofs.

Terror swallows you. Catching sight of an animal creeping out of the pack with a pounce each more threatening than the next is all that can occupy your vision. Hands in pocket, weapon, black. Your body ploughs into autopilot, you rightfully slam the baton encased in your sweat-filled palm into the nearing opposition. You pin down the threat and take its throat hostage, for insurance. The background music of screams and cries slowly come into focus and all you hear is the slurred words of “breathe”, “can’t”, “killing”. Scanning it beneath you, your eyes dart up and down, until eventually settling on two eyes. Dark brown. Rich though, with streaks of golden honey, kind eyes. Eyes that belong to a human. For the first time, you see a person and it’s too late.