[ WP ] A Minor Event

A woman walking down a street stops. She stoops to tuck her jean bottoms into her socks, then pulls her turtle neck up over her nose. She tightens the hood around her head until only her eyes show and zips the final layer up, feeling it hug her. `` No turning back now,'' she whispers to herself before starting again. She rounds the corner where Kensington Ave. meets Main Street, where the crowd has gathered, where the mob is forming. They're all screaming now, and she screams too. She stands on the concrete base of the nearest light pole and sees the front of the crowd. They're wavering at the front but no one's broken the line yet. Some men throw rocks. Some women join them. Fifty yards south down Main stands a perfect row of riot police, staring back at the crowd through their clear polycarbonate shields. They remind her of black knights, standing on some distant battlefield, awaiting a breach in their rivals form. Smokey canister's *thump* into the air and she feels the crowd lurch forward. It moves her like a strong current moving her out to sea -or down to the deeps. Her hand slips from the pole and the crowd tears on, roaring, trampling her as they move. There is n't time to scream. No on stops to help. She catches glimpses of the yellow sky as a river of hands, legs, and feet pours over her. She sees angry faces as they pass over her. Some catch her eyes. Most do n't. In time, she does n't see anything at all.
