Wednesday when one group of activists entered the neighborhood where the Mayor’s mansion stood in its proud and stately manner. As was the case of the other places in D.C. where the demonstrators were making their way to a destination, these people were also singing. When they came within reach of a four block radius, they saw military men ahead.
“Stand back or we’ll shoot!” One of the guards shouted through his voice cone. Another man repeated the warning.
“We’re cautioning you, we have orders to shoot. Stand back, you thugs.”
The singing continued, the decibels increasing with each warning. They marched, full of fear, but beyond the capability to respond to any logic that would normally induce them to halt.
“Stop in the name of the law. We are within our legal rights to fire our arms!”
The marching continued, the singing grew in intensity.
One of the men in charge of the White army signaled to his front men and they began whirling canisters into the crowd.
The song turned into screams, people wiping their eyes to take away the sting. Those with bottled water poured the liquid into the injured marchers’ eyes. The demonstrators had turned away and were running, the weaker ones were trampled.
A young man, Tommy was his name, stood facing the heathens, the hatred inside him filled his gut. “Pagans, that’s what you are, you’re all a bunch of Christian hating pagans!” Raising his rifle, he aimed. He didn’t care if the order hadn’t been given, he knew it had to be done. These people needed to learn their lesson, they needed to go back to their ghettos so he could have his life back. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, but he stood strong, proud to be helping to save his country.
Tommy fired, a popping sound emitted from his weapon. He fired again and again.
Others around him assumed that the order had been given and they fired their weapons.
The screaming bodies began to drop. The sting from the gas was no longer their biggest problem. They ran to escape, but the gunmen marched toward them, shooting as they approached the runners.
Screams, yelling, helter skelter was heard in the streets. Then it happened, the final kick that ended the bloody battle at the Mayor’s mansion.
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