Riot

He slammed the baton into the back of her head. She crumpled forward like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut and slumped to the ground in a heap. He was stunned by the force of the vibrations as they moved up his arm. Did he really hit her so hard?

He could not see through his visor clearly. He swung out wildly as the mass closed around him. The smoke was choking him; tearing his lungs up with acidic after-taste. He could hear the hollers and barked orders of his comrades and the screams of the placard-toting protesters. He could feel the crush of bodies descending on him. Panic enclosed his mind; fear gripped at his heart. Would he die here today? He struck out...

People were running. Crying out for their separated friends; crying out for medics. Fires were starting further down the street. A sergeant was yelling for a line to form. Cries of pain broke the air. And there she was... A dark pool of red blood flowing out from under her twisted neck like blooming crimson flowers on the pavement. Her strawberry blond hair was matted to her head and her spine was twisted into an impossible position. She was not moving. Why was she not moving?

The world dulled and became silent as he stared down at her. Had he really hit her so hard? His hands went numb. The numbness crept up his arms, spread across his shoulders and snaked tingling fingers into his scalp. He felt bodies moving around him. Shoving, screaming, falling, bleeding. He was rooted into this place. He could not move. Had he really hit her so hard? Her blood flowed towards him, pooled around his boots. He was awash in a ocean of her blood. His vision was turning red with the colour of her blood. Her blood was staining his mind. Her blood was tinting the world red... so very very red.

Something sharp and glass slammed into his face. His numb hands dropped the baton to the ground with a deafening clatter as he slipped to his knees through a sea of red. He suddenly found himself face to face with her. Her eyes were wide, frozen in terror, but her mouth was silent. He reached out for her hand and clasped it. It was very cold. O God, why had he hit her so hard?

His vision slipped into blackness as someone drug him away towards the flashing lights of an army of ambulances. He grasped at her hand as they pulled at him. He screamed as they tore him from her. The further away they took him the clearer her face became. As the red world turned to a blackest black her face burned itself onto his heart. 'O God, O God, O God... why did I hit her so fucking hard?'