Vignette:The People's Stick

t was a day of outrage. It was only a week ago when Itliong had said that he ‘washed his hands’ of the scandal, but it was only the day after when it was revealed that he and his party had in fact received money from the camarillas, the same people they purported to hate.

The newest issue of Escolta trumpeted this very fact on this week’s issue. Itliong no lavado di cuartazo, the headline said: ‘Itliong not washed clean of embezzlement’. Though it took a while to get it in print, as the revelation appeared on a Saturday, by Monday it still had the same effect as now thousands upon thousands converged on the Plaza de los Caídos.

From the plaza, the protesters planned to march directly to the front of the Confederal Congress Building. In the meantime, many of them had brought, aside from the requisite pots and pans for a cacerolazo, food and water, along with blankets, and even tents for some.

They were going to stay as long as they can, hold out as much as they can. That much was obvious.

But as those at the outskirts of the plaza ‘skirmished’, with the telltale banging of pots and yelling, the local ecosystem of the tents at the center remained essentially undisturbed, and even protected.

And in Cirio’s tent, all one could hear was the heavy breathing of them and their new friend, appropriately named Lumbre. They continued before a voice called out from outside, stopping the flame from consuming the candle entirely.

''“Oi. I know you can hear me in there. Cálido. You lick some post?”'' the voice called to the tent’s occupants in rhymed Mixto with a chuckle.

Cirio was less amused by the double entendre. ''“Fuck your mother, António. And I don’t have any,”'' he shouted in response.

“What was that?” Lumbre whispered to them after a long silence.

“Nothing important.”

“Anyway, where were we—”

Cirio suddenly raised his hand, and the hushed chatter was suddenly brought to a halt by a salvo of what sounded like explosions in the distance. Lumbre at first dismissed the thought, believing it to simply be fireworks.

But the sounds continued to come closer, clashing with yelps and panicked yelling around the tent. Hurriedly putting on their shirts, the pair opened the tent and peered outside amidst the confusion, seeing nothing but their fellow protesters fleeing from a certain direction. Cirio reached out and pulled one into the tent as if plucking a fruit.

“What’s going on?”

“The camagós'', they’re coming! They have gas!”''

Before they could squeeze any more information out of him, he broke free and ran away, melting into the uniform mass of the fleeing crowd. Cirio could already see the clouds of tear gas in the distance. He took hold of Lumbre’s shoulders.

''“Take my hand and follow me. If you get lost, meet me at the same place.”''

He simply nodded before doing just that as Cirio let go of him. He grasped their hand tightly, making an effort to never let go as they melted into that same crowd. And they ran.

They saw groups of protesters advancing, with sticks and stones, barrel shields, masks and balaclavas, forming up to meet the advancing riot police. But they would not be one of those protesters. Their time had not yet come.

So they kept running.