Tuesday, 30 July 2013

Diya-narrative writing

Sitting behind the pile of rubble, I looked out to the stars. Once this was a peaceful country, with no protests. Then the Government had decided that they should build on a park, Gezi park. We didn’t like it and peacefully protested. The government responded badly. Now the protests were violent and everybody wore gas masks because of tear gas. My family had died when police started using gunshots to stop protest and I had been badly injured and that still affected me.

We hadn't been in the protest on purpose. We had only gone to the market when the protesters filled the area, the police following and shooting off random gunshots, killing innocent marketers and buyers.

The jet black sky above and the sun-baked buildings full of holes made me feel like an ant. Rubble lay everywhere. Suddenly I hear footsteps.My heart beats fast as I shrink down behind the pile of rubble. A rush of adrenaline flows through my body. My gas mask feels as it is trying to suffocate me. The footsteps become  louder.Adrenaline courses through my body like never before. My  hands become clammy and useless. All of a sudden I hear a voice “Hands up” it ordered, gruffly. All I remembered was a baton hitting me on the head, then darkness consumed me.

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