He Was Dressed in Armour

Day 100

It was day 100. Day 100 of fighting, of resisting, of demanding justice. For George, for Armaud, for Breanna, but not just for them anymore. For every single Black life. For the lives unjustly taken, murdered, by a militarized state, once known as the United States of America. But we weren't so united under America anymore, we were united under our own humanity. 

And you could feel it in the streets. In the shops you entered, as owners behind glass casing, mirroring your dust, milk, filth covered faces, held up their fists in unity. The glass divide for nothing but their own safety. Against the police. Mace could not get through it. It would give them time to shield from tear gas if there was another one thrown inside. But it was not bullet proof. The atmosphere stunk of sweat and resistance, of writhing bodies fighting with all their might to push back, to block the cop car door, to kick the face of the enemy. Some succeeded. But some did not. And so the streets were littered with pain, too. Dropped phones, forgotten wallets, torn off tops and jackets and masks. You had to step over them, wondering who their owner belonged to now. A prison cell, perhaps. 

Today was the day of Trump's address. He would appear on live TV, at last, addressing his great nation one last time. Probably fidgeting, red in the face, with fear in his eyes and voice. Under coercion. Under the now rebel conquered White House roof, taken 10 days ago. Nobody knows the real story of how it happened, there are different versions, different dramatizations of the same conclusion, but the in between didn't seem to matter to most. Why should it? He was locked up. He was no longer an active threat. And if it had been easy, he could've remained that way, but as the history books predict; to hold a figure head destroyed, is to hold a martyr and icon for enemies to rally around. The news loved it. The speculation. But only those who couldn't protest on the streets truly knew the detail. Anyone else simply didn't have time. 

You certainly didn't. You hadn't had time since day zero. The weeks faded in and out, seams of time amalgamating into each other, until you didn't know the date. That's why it was referred to by the number of days it had been going on instead. But today was different. Maybe it's a little self important, but today was your birthday. And the day you met him. The most dangerous thing you'd ever done in your life.