Waiting

Waiting. Something we all do. It can be for hours, days or weeks but it is always pointless. The things we wait for vary, differ from person to person but it's all a meticulous cycle in the end. Waiting is time and time is a concept that makes us feel as though we are in control. We can carefully monitor every aspect of our lives in a 24 hour period, to feel contempt in our lives; to feel as though we have a purpose.

Some wait for change, whether that be emotional, political or factual. Thousands protest - all hoping for some sort of change in the political variety. But no one cares. All the government see is another protester, lost in the crowd of many but still hopes for the change.

Police don't care about them or any other person in retrospect, all they see are those who are against them. People that need to be controlled. And that's what they're ordered to do.

The so called protectors encircle them, close them in slowly like a predator does with its prey - ready for takedown. They ready themselves, armed with an assortment of gases, and throw them into the mass of bodies. At first glance it looked like the grey tendrils of a cigarette, flooding out rapidly like a tsunami heading inland, but they wouldn't be let off that easy. Of course, they're fine, covered with shields and masks in case any of the smoke finds itself eroding away the insides of their lungs, those within don't find themselves that lucky, being forced to endure the pain of the acidic gas slowly eating away at them, being packed against hundreds of others only protesting their basic rights.

Men and women can only scream in agony, clawing, scratching, tearing at their eyes in hopes of soothing the pain. They can only wait for the pain to ease and cool off. They can only wait for a saviour to help them in what seems their darkest times. Children are their too. By their own free will or by them having to follow their parents. Their unfortunate timing could leave them with permanent damage.

Some were right next to the acidic canisters as they erupted, engulfing them and clouding the air around them. Some were unlucky enough to have been struck directly with them - this lead to blindness and - again - permanent deformities. But the protectors don't care. They're not paid to.

After what seems like an eternity, the smoke dissipates, as if nothing happened and the protectors slowly back away, slinking into the confines of safety until the next riot.

At first glance, it may appear as though nothing ever took place there, that the screams and wails were but echoes in the wind. But those who know bear the constant suffocating feeling at every turn of their life. Those who are stuck with that can only be grateful that they didn't use fire to silence them as they did with the others. As that is what it is all about in the end. Silence.

The government still batted no eye in the direction of what was happening. As long as they got their dirty money and their safe, lavish mansions they had no reason to worry themselves about the safety of their own people. At the end of the day, no one could touch them, the corrupt police and the lack of political rivals meant that they would stay in power. And that was what they craved.

The leaders of a state that could barely recall the laws. That couldn't look after their people. That ignored the people seeking to gain their attention. They had no sympathy towards the 8 people who committed suicide in order to create some change. A Martyr for their cause. And why should they bother about the 2000 and rising people who were injured in the countless riots. As long as they had their office and power they were at peace.

The next riot happened in the subway station. The crowds had gathered again, hoping to catch anyone in powers attention, but as always their attempts were futile, falling on unhearing ears. The subway station became more and more cramped as people got off of their train, only hoping to make it back home to their families, and sleep of their days stresses. But as the gang walked down the stairs, they realised that would be unlikely to happen, entrapped by them, they were left in what was to be a brutal standoff. By the time the protectors had decided to turn up, the gangs were already locked in fights like animals in a cage. Winding themselves up and pouncing on their prey. And the protectors looked on. They saw it as some sort of amusement, watching the prey get torn apart. It was as if they were spectators watching a helpless antelope being thrown into the lions den.

A scream echoed, but it was drowned out by those of another, and another, and another until all you could hear was screaming, those of agonising pain. But still nothing happened. The protectors looked on. Not interfering once. Allowing innocent lives to be distorted and destroyed, as those who managed to get out would never be the same again. But at least they got out.

Another riot to end in no change. Protectors looking on, making bets on whose likely to win, on who will survive.

The protests continue, the violence continues and the lack of protection within the state continues. But all of it fall on deaf ears.

In the end no one will help.

in the end they're all still waiting.