He Was Dressed in Armour

Gas

'GET DOWN.' 

It was that familiar ring of panic, the loud and pulsing fear reverberating in my ear, especially the left one, where a woman was guarding a boy who looked just old enough to be fourteen. So obviously, we did. Gripping to each other, almost buoying each other down, to make sure no one fell too roughly, or not quick enough. And it wasn't long before the white clouds of gas begun to rise. 

I'd recovered from being teared last week, but the rattle in my lungs started up again, as if preempting what was inevitably going to happen. 'stupid bitch', I thought to myself. Today just had to be the one time I forgot my mask. And I'd left that carton of milk on the side in a rush to get out. Rony had come to pick me up three minutes before he'd promised, pulling up in his knocked up old Tesla that still had the knack of making him look like a dickhead. The hood of the car was pretty much bashed in and one of the windows was smashed. Maybe it made him feel more bad ass. 

I jumped in, and I knew, as soon as I sat down, that I'd forgotten it. I had to ask my Mom to go out and buy it last night. 'Wait wait wait. I forgot - '

'We don't have time woman.' And that was Rony's way. He sped off, talking to himself, and sort of to me, about what had happened the previous night at home. The latest drama with his parents, half of which were in the CPD. His Dad. There'd been ongoing tension, and his Mom had even threatened to file for divorce if he didn't resign, and it all came to a head a few days ago when his Dad had punched him after an explosive argument at the dinner table. 'He was being really fucking weird yesterday. Think he's scared I'm gonna leave with Mom. I've said it to her - well, you know what I said. It would just be so easy...to just go and live with Jem.' 

Jem was his brother and lived out of the city with his wife and new baby. 

'Maybe he's scared I'll go to the police. That would be pretty god damn ironic.' He spat, still concentrating on the road. I traced the now subsiding bruise below his eye. He was quite beautiful like this, venting on, with the morning sun shining on the purple of the wound. It looked almost ethereal. 

'Is it still painful?'

'I put ice on it every night. I'm fine.' And he batted away my hand. 

I suppose I shouldn't blame him. But I do. Because people don't tell you, but when you're in a situation like this, when you know exactly what's going to happen, and how soon, even, everything slows. To a snails pace. You can literally see the breath from peoples mouths. And you can hear the rise and fall of peoples chests, as they try to, in vein, store as much oxygen as they can. So I have time to blame him. Maybe it would be different if it was him next to me instead. 

And so I bent my head down, everyone following, waiting for the screams of mercy and anger and confusion. We would then, upon hearing it begin to fizz on the pavement, stand up and run. That's how it worked. You had to be fast. You'd end up behind a bus stop or cowering in the doorway of some smashed store front, head between your knees. Or, you'd run to the next street to find a new group, you'd familiarize, regroup, and the cycle would start again. I quickly chose the latter. That's what I'd do today. Breathe, breathe, move your feet to a position where they can pick you up quickly. Hold on to your sign. The boy next to me moaned in fear. I wanted to reassure him. But a roar deafened my thoughts instead. 

It came from the very front of the crowd. That's it, I thought. Time to move. But as i lifted my head a little more, they translated. They were cheers. And there were claps. I saw a trail of smoke sail through the sky, before hitting the armed cops like a missile. People were whispering around me. 

'They're dispersing!' one guy shouted. He stood up. So the woman next to him did. And I did. And the fourteen year old did. And that's when I saw him for the first time. 

- 

I remember when I was a kid, I saw a raid happening across the street. The house belonged to a little old woman called Mae who lived there with her dog, Bruce. She always bought me ice pops from the drug store and gave me a dollar to sweep the stairs going up to her door. Mom said she used to babysit me too, on occasion, when she was working late shifts and couldn't get back to read me to sleep. I can't remember much of those times, though. 

Her grandson had been selling drugs to his friends at high school, and had been staying with her whilst his parents were going through a divorce. Apparently just weed. But they dragged him out on his knees, these people, covered head to toe in black armor, wielding batons and guns. Not much different to how they look now, apart from the color. Now it's blue. I watched out my living room window as one of them brought the baton to his face, hard. They did it three times. Because he wouldn't stop squirming and crying. Mae's face watching helplessly from the same window in her house, hand covering mouth in disbelief. The force of the blows drew blood, too. And I opened the window to hear them laughing about it as they dragged him into the back of the cop car. I saw all of it, before Mom dragged me away, trying to help me make any sense of it. But i couldn't, and i know she couldn't either. His name was Charles, was the last thing she told me before turning my lights off after sitting with me until four in the morning. And he's still in prison today. 

But I knew, this person, whoever they were, wasn't the same. He wore head to toe black armor, including a mask. Everyone was buzzing, still cheering, holding their fists up. I saw somebody at the front pat him on the back, and then someone else. He was taller than any of them. By a mile. 6"6 at least. He'd thrown it back at the cops. Which was something that happened often, but not by someone like this. He looked like a real rebel. Someone asked jokingly if it was Batman. I laughed. I didn't know that the distraction would change it all so much though. 

Because we'd spoken too soon, and I didn't even have time to open my mouth to let out a warning as the second canister sailed towards a spot right next to me.