I was just minding my own business, as usual, walking across my city's square, when I heard the screaming.
Shouting, and crying. It was an ear-piercing sound, like nothing I had ever heard before. It was involuntary, from my gut, from my brain, internally loud. For a moment, I was frozen, listening to the sounds, hardly able to comprehend them. I looked around, desperately searching the crowd for the source, but I couldn't focus, I couldn't move. The sounds were just too loud. The crying and shouting were so loud that they took over my consciousness. They were so loud, that I couldn't even move. I was still, and silent in my mind.
The shouting increased in volume until it suddenly cut off. I couldn't figure out what had happened, until I realized I could move again. I looked down at the ground, and I saw a small puddle of bright red liquid forming around my feet. I didn't understand. What had happened? Where did that puddle come from? I stared at it, still not comprehending. Then, something inside me clicked. This was not a puddle of water. A flash of understanding hit me. It must have been blood. Blood. Around me. Around my feet. I was standing in blood.
I looked up at my surroundings again. I was surrounded by people. Humans, staring at me, their eyes wide, their mouths open. They were still. Silent. Finally, I could make out the source of all the noise. A man was lying in the middle of the plaza. He was curled into a ball over his stomach, holding his hands to his stomach. Blood poured out of his mouth, and his head was tilted towards his shoulder, eyes closed, the face turned down into the wet pavement. He was completely still. There was nobody tending to him. Nobody trying to help. Nobody even the slightest bit leery of approaching him.
There was a young man standing next to him. He was glaring down at the man on the ground, yelling and pointing a long stick, sharpened to a point, at the man. Whether he was yelling at the man, or me, I couldn't tell. He was shouting, but I couldn't hear him. His mouth was moving, but the sounds were muffled, like the world had suddenly turned into a silent movie.
I looked on in horror as the young man stepped tentatively forward, and plunged the tip of the stick into the center of the man's back. Slowly, he withdrew it before plunging it in again and again, making small, jerking motions. He did this over and over, and each time his voice became louder, until it was clear as day again. He was speaking to me, screaming at me, making me feel gross, making me feel violated. I needed to get away. I turned and sprinted away, away from the blood, the screaming, and this young man. I ran back towards the crowd, and through it, out of my city, and far away from here. I ran until my side was aching.
The parade was over. I caught my breath in the back of the car, and the air felt cool, fresh, and clean. I looked up through the clear glass of the car's windshield at the angry sky above me.
It was raining. Great fat tears, the size of golf balls, made their way slowly down towards the ground, creating a unique pattern on the windshield. I sat immobile in my seat, watching the water streak down the glass. I couldn't move. I could barely think. It was like I was paralyzed. I was empty, blank. The only thing I could do was look up at the sky, hear the rain, and wait for the parade to begin.
It was about a half hour before the girls came back to the car to wait with us for the parade to start back up. I could barely see them in the rain. We were protected from it by the roof of the car, but that wasn't exactly the point.
A girl and a guy walked up the car with flowers in their hands, laughing, talking, almost running. They were soaking wet, and their clothes were almost transparent. One of the girls was my sister, and the other was a friend of hers.
"Get in here, you guys are soaked!" my mother called to them. They both jumped into the car, laughing, drinking, each holding a big bouquet of flowers.
"Hey, Rosalie. You should go throw some of these to the crowds. Just try not to step on anyone. I'll be right back!" My sister exclaimed. She ran towards the house, giggling, cradling her flowers, and throwing them to the crowds below. Her hair was plastered to her face with rain.
"Aw, my hair's ruined!" she exclaimed, and laughed. Her clothes were soaked, drenched, clinging to her body, clinging to the material of the dress and flowing in the wind.
She stopped once in a while, walking amongst the crowds, throwing flowers, laughing.
"Callie, come back, come catch up with us!" My brother called after her.
She stopped and looked at us, her blue eyes innocent. "Alright!" she acquiesced, running up to us, "let's go! Where's the crowd?"
"What's going on?" she exclaimed. There was nothing crowdy about the place. The crowds had dissipated entirely, leaving the square empty, save for all the wet remnants of the parade.
"Oh, they're just taking a break to clean up!" my brother said.
"Oh." she said, frowning, "I didn't know."
She was cold, and shivering. She was soaking wet, and her hair was pressed against her head.
"Here. I'll get you a tissue." my brother said, walking over to the ornate table. He picked up a tissue off the table and handed it to her. She gasped, dropping her flowers, and running over to him, taking it from his fingers, and wiping her face where he had dropped it.
"Thanks, Edward." she said, and laughed, "I'm sorry I bolted out of the car."
"It's fine." he said. The girls were still standing in the front seat, in front of me, so I couldn't see their faces. "Nice flower, Rosalie," I said, nodding at the one in her hair.
"Thanks!" she said, reaching her hand down to pat my hand. It felt abnormal, gross. I blindly withdrew my hand.
I didn't mean to touch anyone. I just wanted to brace myself. If my brother said one more thing, I would start screaming. He was only eight. He was talking to a girl. They were alone in the car. I couldn't take it anymore.
The remnants of the parade were picked up, and we were soon heading towards the parade again. I was shaking. My hands were crushed in my lap, my fists were clenched. I didn't want to be seen in this condition. I didn't want to be seen by them.
"Rosalie!" my mother exclaimed. Rosalie had her face in her hands, her back towards me, heaving with sobs. "Callie? What's wrong?"
"I fell." she said, finally looking up. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red, her nose red. She sniffled, wiping her eyes with a tissue. "I slipped, and hit my tailbone." she said.
"Oh." my mother said.
"I'll walk you to the house." my father said.
The parade was beginning again, and they had lined up on the curb. We were all giggling, smiling, everyone was happy. Everyone was hot and sweaty, and happy. Everyone was bright and happy.
