The Cost of Revolution
He thought the revolution would be glory and gold. Instead, he got shattered windows and sacrifice.
The remaining window shattered as more shells landed.
Glass shards crashed to the floor, mixing with rubble. Moments later another thundering crash echoed out.
The revolution was nothing like he’d expected.
He thought it would be roaring crowds tearing down fences, pulling the unjust from their mansions, holding them to account.
It had started that way. Then the bombs started to fall.
Instead of glory and gold he had broken windows and bodies littering the streets.
He leaned around the door frame, the door long since blown from its hinges.
The last crash hadn’t just been a shell exploding, the building opposite had lost most of its walls, rubble heaped the length of the street.
Standing among the carnage was a girl coated in dust.
She couldn't be older than five, what was she doing there, where were her parents?
He scanned the street cursing, not another soul in sight.
That was when he saw the bullets strike in scattered patterns around her.
There was no time to think, his body reacted instinctively. He threw himself out of the doorway.
Charging forwards he noticed her tears, cutting trails down her face through the grime and dust.
Arms wide, scooping her up, that was when he felt a single sharp point of agony.
He stumble across the street, collapsing behind the remaining wall. The girl scrambled to her feet.
Her eyes darted to the dark red stain spreading across his tattered jacket.
Her cracked voice whispered, “Thank you…” Before she darted away.
His unfocused eyes watched her disappear into the remnants of the building.
Who knows how long she’d last?
He chuckled, wincing. Closing his eyes he wondered, how long would any of them?
