The Queer Rebels

Chapter 29: Clashing

As the sirens grow louder, the first of the patrol cars appear, followed by armored vans. The authorities spill out, clad in riot gear, faces obscured behind visors. They form a line, advancing slowly towards us.

But instead of running, cowering, we lock arms and stand our ground. My elbow is hooked with Alex on one side and a young student on the other. I can feel their bodies tense as our chanting grows louder, a defiant roar against the approaching threat.

I jut out my chin and raise my voice. "We are fighting for our right to exist! For everyone's right to exist!"

The authorities halt their forward momentum and issue orders, their voices distorted through megaphones, telling us to disperse, warning of consequences. But we stand, signs held high.

I look around, taking in every face, every sign, every ounce of courage. This moment, this feeling, it's more than a protest; it's a proclamation. We will be heard. We will be seen. And we will not be moved without a fight.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I know this is just the beginning. Whatever happens next, we have ignited something unstoppable. We are the spark that will burn down the walls of oppression, and today, we blaze brightly against the shadow of authority.

Because they can't erase this event from the memories of those who have witnessed us. The teenagers whose brains are free from enforced conformity.

The officers move in, and the air tightens, charged with the inevitability of confrontation. As they step closer, my mind races, already planning, already fighting, already dreaming of our next move.

And then, everything converges—the shouts, the signs, the encroaching line of the authorities—and we brace for impact.

Canisters fly, spewing dark gray mist.

Tear gas.

Smoke fills my nose and stings my eyes.

I pull up my bandana over my nose and click off my mask. It's taking too much concentration to keep it up. I squint against the attack on my eyes and focus on breathing.

My vision clouds as my eyes tear. But I dig my heels into the grass and continue to chant.

I will not be silenced.

Then a row of thick plastic shields batters into me.

I get pushed backwards, my arm is wrenched from Alex's. I fall. My bottom hits the stomped grass, which is hard but warm.

Reflexively, I look up, one hand raised to block the sun. The gas. And see the swift movement of a baton.

I roll, swiping out my arm.

The baton catches my wrist and I feel an explosion of pain.

I clench at it as I turn onto my knees. It's already swelling.

Another thud of pain hits my side. My back. Heavy boots. The sharp crack of wood.

Screams pour from my throat. They erupt all around me. I can't tell which is mine. Or Alex's. Or anyone else's.

Where is Alex? Everyone else? I can't open my eyes too look.

I crawl away.

Am yanked back. The collar of my shirt digs into my throat.

Again, I collapse.

Slick blood drips down my face.

Is it mine?

There is no reasoning behind my body's movement. I am up. And down. Tossed in a current of confusion.

After what seems like hours, somehow, there is now cement under my hands. Cold and scraping. I claw and drag myself away and no one seems to follow.