Horizons

Episode 82

Kendra seemed to be talking to them, pointing somewhere in the distance, then pointing at our car. After that he saluted and returned to his army.

One of the policemen walked towards our car, giving orders to Mr. Driver to continue the journey. This time with tight security from the police.

Along the way, I can see the hustle and bustle of time with various writing boards lined up flat. They shouted, decorated, even some began to perform anarchy. The smoke from the burnt rubber tires, plus the tear gas sprayed into the air, greeted us as the car door opened.

As soon as I got out of the car, my body was embraced from the side. That burly hand protected my head and with quick steps he led me into the tent. Without seeing his face, I could immediately recognize who this moss green uniformed man was. The boots he wore were the same shoes I had prepared this morning, the watch on his wrist cracked slightly as I dropped accidentally a few days ago, and of course the fragrance, the masculine fragrance that every day leads me to dreamland.

Just wanted to chase, but my step was stopped by a woman with a gun on her waist, "Sa, a lot of patients to handle"

My words are enough to stop my move. My view also shimmered around. The mats held around the room were filled with injured protesters. Some get blue bruises, scratches on the elbows, dehydration that lacks oxygen, as well as other side effects from the use of tear gas. Some are severe and should be handled quickly put to bed on the left side. Nurses and doctors from the local health center, as well as volunteers from humanitarian organizations, intervened. Most of the victims were local people, young and old, men and women, and more importantly, school-age children were also involved.

I immediately prepared myself. Wear a mask, gloves, and sterilize everything you need before blending in with others. I move from one patient to another. The sound of crying can be heard here and there. Although I can't understand the local language that they are interfering with the national language, I can capture how they complain, blaming government injustice for policies that harm the small people, berate the ruling class, and groan sorrowfully cry over the fate they must live.