It’s time

How many bottles?

Almost two dozens.

How many litres?

Enough, and some to go.

Are we ready to do this? If anyone wants to leave, do so now.

No one moved.

The plan was in motion.

Everybody had had enough. They had come into our street, armed with their guns and sticks, wearing helmets and bullet-proof jackets, under the guise of protecting and serving, but they served only themselves, protected only each other. They cursed and spat at us, stole from us. Protection money – they called it. You took our money to protect us from you, but in the end you didn’t even protect us.

It was a Naxal attack, they told the media. Naxalites had abused our women, brutalised our children, and kidnapped our youth to brainwash them into joining their camps, they claimed. But we know the truth. We recognise the cold hateful eyes of our tormentors. Some wore the uniform, others were chosen by the uniforms. They knew we were helpless but they did not hesitate, they did not show mercy.

We were helpless and unprepared then. Not anymore.

When you treat a man like an animal, you are going to bring out the beast in him.

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction – Feb 5thSunday Photo Fiction – Feb 5th