Sentiment of a Witness

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝

Finally, the morning of my sixth birthday rolled around. There had been much commotion around the house recently, and the reason behind being the protest, not my birthday.

When I awoke that morning, I made my downstairs as did every other morning, trying not to fall down the stupidly large steps, but my six-year-old excitement meant that I ran down the stairs. I ran into my father, who was standing at the bottom of the staircase, obviously waiting for me.

"Good morning, my son!" he said, opening his arms for me to jump into, "what's it like being six?"

I remember giggling as I told him that I didn't know yet – I had only been awake for a few minutes.

He carried me into the kitchen where my mother stood, waiting for us.

"Good morning, my little Birthday Boy! Did you sleep well?" she asked, as she took me from my father's arms and into her own.

Giggling yet again, I replied, "yes!"

We sat down to eat, and after we ate, I opened some gifts. The majority of them were books. I loved books, and I still do. They allow me to escape and forget, to live in someone else's life.

At about 11:35am, we started to get ready for the protest. Truth be told, I was nervous about the protest, and I still shudder just thinking about it.

When we arrived at the Grand Country Hall, the place where the protest was to be held, my parents met up with the rest of the SUNRP (The Sophisticated Upper-Class of the Nevermoorian Rights Party) for the final preparations.

At five to twelve, my parents, alongside every other member of the SUNRP, got into position. My parents had opted for an 'in-crowd' position. This essentially meant that they stood with those gathered to watch whatever havoc happened and agreed with whatever the protesters said. 

Apparently it's very important.

Needless to say, my little six-year-old ears didn't like the protest. For starters, it was much too loud. Secondly, Witnesses... I didn't even know what to think of them at that point – were they really just people to hate? Or were they people who were misunderstood?

Just before the protest ended, I saw a few families in the crowd with children around my age. The parents and older siblings didn't seem pleased with the cause of the protest, and the younger children weren't even paying attention. One of the boys about my age noticed me looking and waved at me.

He was about the average size for boys our age and had floppy, dirty blonde curls falling over his face. His shamrock green eyes were big, but his grin was even bigger.

I recognised him as the kid from the next house over from my family's. Our neighbourhood was relatively small, but quite well spread out. We lived in the Forest of Somerher– a forest where trees weren't grown in clusters, with many clearings as if it were planted by hand. The trees were large with leaves of all sizes and colours. We barely talked to our neighbours, or maybe we did; I spent most of my time inside reading and learning, so I wouldn't really know. But what I did know was that this kid's name was Tommy and that our mothers thought we should be friends.

Well... that didn't work out until we were twelve...

I forced myself to give a small wave and smile back, exposing my missing front teeth. Man, how I hated not having those teeth... the way my words were pronounced. My parents, and every other adult I had in my early childhood, had found it absolutely adorable.

The protest maundered on for another hour or so before the closing statement was made, and the protestors marched off, and oh, how grateful I was for that! I had a strong disliking for the SUNRP, and I still do, though they aren't called that these days. The Concerned Citizens of Nevermoor Party. Though I much more prefer the new name, they're still just as annoying, and I truly despise the lot of them.

When we finally got home, we spent the rest of the afternoon together as a family. We enjoyed some hide' n' seek in the woods out the back of our house, a fancy afternoon tea, a reading session, a game of tag and then a nice dinner followed by a dessert.

I asked nothing of the protest and, from that afternoon onwards, decided to push it to the back of my mind, never to be thought of again.

Until that one fateful day...

Written - 24~28 April, 2021

Published - 28 April, 2021