The Riots

It’s 12.30pm and I’m sitting on the floor with the rest of my class while Mrs Tupper reads James and the Giant Peach out loud to us.

I look out between the louvers and I can see the baking heat moving. It is so thick it vibrates like a translucent shield. It has a force of its own and each time you leave the sanctuary of a cool room, you need to brace your body against it. I’m a child of the heat so I’ve learnt to love the feel of it against my skin.

My stomach grumbles while I listen to tales of a boy who sinks his teeth into an endless giant peach. I’m thirsty imagining the thick juice as it trickles down his chin and stains his clothes. I think about my lunch box and wonder what sandwich my mother has packed for me today, I’m guessing its vegemite and suddenly I loose my appetite.

I start to doze, but I’m woken by the sound of an explosion. We all jump and crane our necks to look out the window. Bradley a fat red headed boy with a smattering of freckles across his podgy face runs to the window.

‘Cool, they’re throwing bombs’

Mrs Tupper gets up from her seat and pushes Bradley back onto the floor.

‘Don’t be silly, sit down and stay calm, it’s nothing, probably just an engine that has back fired’.

We all look at each other. In this city where every local drives a broken down, rust bucket car, we know the sound of a back firing engine well enough to know that that explosion was anything but.

Another one fills the air. They are more like popping sounds followed by great billows of smoke and these visual magnifications of sound go a long way to incite a small bubbling of panic in our bellies.

From the window we can see crowds of people running. Some stop to pick up rocks and fire them with precision out beyond our line of vision.

More popping and the air around the crowd is thick. Men have taken off their t-shirts to cover their faces, while the women pull up the necklines of their Mary Blouses.

One of the bombs lands in the school grounds and is smoking heavily. Mrs Tupper sends us to the far side of the room and tells us to crouch down in the corner and stay calm. She puts me in charge of the class, while she rushes out the door, no doubt to the principal’s office.

As the smoke starts to flood into the class room it becomes clear what these bombs are. Tear gas! Our faces are stinging and many of my class mates start to cry. I’m 10 years old and I shock myself by thinking ‘Are we going to die today?’

‘Stay as low as possible’ I yell

A few of us run around shutting louvers. We leave one side open and try and flush the gas out by turning the fan up full blast. Eventually, all the louvers are shut and the small gaps have been stuffed with any loose material we can find.

Panic is spreading and the younger kids want their mothers. Mrs Tupper returns and tells us to get our things. The school is being shut. We’re in the middle of a riot zone and the police have pulled out all the stops not caring that they are driving the crowds right into a primary school.

I start to shake, grab my rucksack and race out of the classroom. The teachers are everywhere with buckets. As children run past they encourage them to dip their sports kit or uniform shirts into the buckets. The water helps to alleviate the burning.

I can‘t see anything with the smoke and all the children running and crashing into one another. The sound of crying is everywhere and my heart starts to race. I need to find my sister. What if she doesn’t know what’s going on, what if she has been hurt?

‘M!’ I scream. ‘Where are you?’

I run to the assembly hall and then across the 5th Grade block. Nothing! I spin around and cover my mouth with my hand. Above me I can see another black pellet lobbing through the air. It lands in the small space between the 2nd and 3rd Grade class rooms. I shield my eyes and there in the middle of pandemonium I can see my sister. She’s standing confused, staring at the pellet that has landed at her feet. I scream, but nothing comes out. My eyes are the size of saucers. I’m taking short sharp breaths and my arms and legs are filled with led. In my head I’m screaming, but in reality I look like a fish out of water, can’t move, can’t talk, just gasping.

Someone races up behind her and scoops her in his arms just as I see the expression on her face turn from confusion to pain. She’s crying and while I’m relieved, I start to panic. Where are they taking her? I’m tired, I want to cry, but I can’t.

‘M, wait. Hey, wait for me’.

I run and trip on a rock. My bag and all my things go flying everywhere.

‘shit!’

Mum would kill me if I lost my school books, so I grapple about trying to collect everything, while looking to see where my sister is being taken. My face and eyes are burning, crying hard, I managed to pull myself up and sprint after the man who has taken M. He’s a teacher and I pull his arms and yell at him.

‘She’s my sister’.

He lets her go and pushes us together.

‘Go to the pick up area, all your parents have been called. There is security keeping the rioters out. Go, hurry!’

We grab each others hands and run. M is crying hard now and I don’t want her to see I’m just as scared. I pull her closer at least we’re together now.

All of the children are collected one by one until there are only a few of us left. Just as I start to panic our mother pulls up in the car. Her face says it all, now all we have to do is get home in one piece.

End.

Hello precious C,

I got your letter last night and G and I sat down and read it over dinner. Yes, it is exactly what I thought you might write. The socks, the funny closet snob thing versus the strange pork pie number. I always wondered how my friend could be such a connoisseur of fine dining and have a fridge filled with pork pies and tinned ravioli. *laughing*.

I love that you get nervous watching scary movies and feel nervous around women you fancy. Sweetie, I never would have guessed those.

I always knew that you were set on never being average. Trust me Corks, that will never happen!

Fancy giving me shit about dusting my feet when you thought so hard about wearing coloured socks. Hello? Seems there is a foot theme going on here!

G is devastated about not coming. See I don’t have any family here so I never have to deal with shit like this. Although when I go and see my brother, one weekend is enough. Some how people think that just because we have the same blood running through our veins that it gives them a right to be direct, criticise you life, offer you advice and boss you around. I won’t use the word ‘hate’ here as you said in your letter the ‘C’ word is often more appropriate!

So it’s Easter and I am really excited about coming to see you this weekend. We’ve decided no Easter Eggs, if anyone gives them to me I’ll donate them to the little kid who lives next door. I wish I could bring you some, but I know that they won’t allow me to.

Not much new to report here. Well sweetie, thanks for the in-depth insight into 'C' world! I’ll have to think of another way to get more info out of you!

xxx

Sorry Honey, meant to post this last week. I got so excited trying to find people to live in your house that I forgot to post your letter.