Primeval

• Max Lewis, Grade 9, St Leo's College
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

By the time you get there, it has already started. An army of identical faceless droogs fighting with an army of identical faceless police. It is mayhem. The droogs are yelling and screaming, tossing Molotov's, bricks and rocks at the police. Cars are littered all over the place, vomiting thick, black smoke which plumes upwards into the sky. The flaming cars act as candles, casting light and shadows that dance with the flames. The police stand there motionless, blocking incoming projectiles with their shields. You stay behind the front lines, not wanting to get caught up in the violence but instead watching with the same morbid curiosity one watches a car crash. You know something grisly is going to happen, but you can’t look away. You have your hood up and a balaclava on, as do the other hundred droogs who carry on like lunatics, screaming insults and taunts as they lob projectiles at the faceless black horde.

You turn your back on the impasse and instead walk down the line of shops that lay empty. You remember walking down this very same street at Christmas as a child, tightly clutching your mother’s hand as she leads you down the bustling street, gazing with wonder at the bright green and red lights, and shop windows stuffed with the latest toys and goodies. This halcyon time is now only a memory, something to be treasured amid this time of government corruption and economic turmoil. You walk down this same street, gazing at the same shops as you did back then. Only now the shop windows are empty, windows smashed and goods looted. Droogs pushing and shoving, every man for himself as they grab what they can, and get the hell out there. The only light is from the torched shops as the flames try desperately to escape. It is a haunting image.

Further down, droogs are trying desperately to smash the window to an electronics store. Televisions inside are broadcasting the local news which show destruction indistinguishable from what you are witnessing. A roar goes up as a trash can delivers the final blow to the shop window, which explodes into a thousand pieces, and is then trampled underfoot as a tsunami of droogs run inside, smashing, grabbing, pushing, screaming. It is disgusting. These people are so young. What could provoke them to resort to such primal anger? These people are someone’s daughter, someone’s son, someone’s lover. The person you smile and nod politely to everyday on your way to work. Your friend. The cute guy you flirt with at the supermarket. The girl in your class you have a crush on. And now they are nothing, simply rabid animals ripping apart everything in sight.

As the impasse behind you escalates, you realise it is no longer safe to watch. You hurry back home, where it is only slightly more safe. At home you watch the destruction on TV. It sickens you. But what can you do about it?