The Protest
Written by: Taylorkidd
The yells subside and the noise of the amplifiers dies away. All that’s left is the wind whipping through the surrounding high rises. Before the podium are the cold faces of thousands. I see the breath from their nostrils, and silence replaces their outrage. Protest signs lower like sunflowers at dusk. Looking at the microphone in front of me, I reach below the podium, and take a sip from the glass. The water is cold, and I feel it all the way to my stomach. My hand moves to the breast of my jacket, and I run my fingers across the threading of the crest of my union.
I inhale deeply and shift gaze to the podium. On the top left corner is the fist size stone, on the top right, another stack of notecards. The pain in my chest is building. With each breath, a sharp pang shoots through my sternum. The crowd shifts their stances and whispers. Knuckles tighten around protest signs. Behind me are ten men in suits with crests similar to mine. I feel their eyes on my shoulders.
Holding the rock, I turn toward the plate glass window behind me. I return to the microphone. “Our elected officials have failed us.” The words echo off the surrounding buildings, and the crowd mumbles. My grip on the rock tightens. The edges press into my palm. The pain in my chest sharpens, as their fate settles upon me. Clenching my jaw, I scan the crowd.
There is a woman in the front row. Her eyes fix on the stone. Her face is pale, and she is wrapped in a worn coat with tattered wool gloves. The corners of her mouth turn down. Her hands tremble and wrinkles form on her forehead.
“The people in this building, are people of words.” My voice climbs to a yell. I feel my vocal chords tightening and swelling. My fists slam against the podium. A lock of hair comes loose. I brush it back into place. I toss the rock in the air, then raise my hands and wait for the yelling to die. My stomach turns and swells with adrenaline. My left leg is shivering. I press it into the podium and continue. “Words have given me nothing.”
The woman with the sign moves from the front, her eyes on the ground. She leaves the path of the crowd and disappears. No one notices. I feel my pulse in my ears, wrists, and temples. My breathing quickens, and I feel my skin flush as sweat forms at my hairline. Placing a hand on each side of the podium, I breathe deep to stifle the pain in my chest. I lean towards the microphone. I feel each heartbeat in my pupils. “I am a man of actions! And the time, to act, is now!”
When the words leave my mouth, I turn toward the building and hurl the stone. It strikes a large window and the glass shatters. Thousands of tiny shards crash to the ground. The crowd rushes forward.