Aftermath

          The sky was clearing up, blue, with tinges of grey. It would rain, probably. An aeroplane went off, outsiders going back to safety, going back to their wombs. The streets were now visible, tattered, ragged. A single boot, military maybe, was standing at the middle of the road, like a sentry. A pair of glasses, the skeleton of a half burnt SUV, few TVsets scattered here and there, a torn national flag, A few broken movie cameras, hundreds and thousands of stones, big, small, and bullet pellets. And blood. Here, and there. Dry, and wet. Some of it has lost its brightness, its meaning. The others still looked like scars on the face of the Earth, not to be erased soon. He looked around, shaking his head. Five days of demonstrations, and then one evening of military marches, and it's over. And all of this mess that's left, now he has to clear all of this. All this blood, bullet, and evidences, he, a single man has to clear up, with one mighty broom. The government must be a fool, can't they clear up all of this with their tanks, and machineguns?
           It starts raining. Cool, moist rain. The natural cleansing agent. Now she'll wash away all this dirt, all these stains, and all this blood. But will she be able to take away the memories of those, who are still alive? He doesn't think so. These stains are here to stay. And so are these people. He turns around, his work here, for today, is over. For now, it is over.

To the people of the ongoing Egypt Revolution, and for the commemoration of 20 years of Tiananmen Square protests.