Everything We've Been Told Are Lies

The music is still pounding, but people are shoving, pushing, desperate. The dancing is long forgotten. I just stand there, holding you tight in the maelstrom, tucking your head under my chin. There's no escape. They're lashing out at random, triggered by movement, so I stand perfectly still and try to shield your body from it all. Curiously, I'm unafraid, even though I know what happens next. I've seen it enough times on TV. The music cuts out and then I hear the screaming.

Your fingers are digging into my back, clutching desperately. I look around, but there was only ever one way out, and that door is barricaded by two huge men wearing the same uniform as those going among us, lashing out.

Eventually, the cadence changes, as the bloodied slump to their knees and the rest of us stand, shellshocked by the sheer brutality. One by one, they march us back up the stairs and into the night. When it's our turn, we go together, my arm around your shoulders so they can't separate us. We file silently down the alley to the street.

You see the vans and only then do you start to cry.

There is a man in a different uniform, standing there under a hastily-erected set of spotlights, hands on hips, his beard long and dark. He oversees the progression of our little groups into the back of the vans. He raises his baton and strides over to us.

"Such sickening depravity," he roars.

He strikes the back of my hand with his baton, the hand that was resting on your shoulder, breaking our contact. I hiss, cradling my knuckles while you stare, wide-eyed.

"Such filth. Such corruption," he leers. "You are the shame of your families. The shame of our nation."

He's staring at me, willing me to respond. I can see it in his eyes, how much he wants to use the baton again. I can hardly believe it when you step in front of me. I make to move you out of the way, but you won't budge.

"Don't," I whisper, "It's okay."

You don't seem to listen. Instead, you face him down, even though he towers above you. I need to stop you, but I don't know how.

"You are the shame of our nation," you tell him.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and I brace myself to push you out of his way. The baton tip hovers close to your face.

"We're here to safeguard our nation. We're here to safeguard the future," he hisses, then smiles coldly down at us.

"You need to be shown," he continues, "You need to understand. If you need to be punished in order to understand, that's where we come in. We are here to remind you of your morals, so that you may live good lives as upright citizens. You need to understand your future."

I hold your hand tightly as you stare back at him. I know what we did, beyond dancing and kissing. I know the line we crossed. I remember the look on your face and I cannot bring myself to believe any of it was wrong, or filthy, or corrupt. You raise your chin and I know what I'm going to say. I'm going to take a beating for it, but you need to see that I am like you after all. This is the first step of our lives together, and it's going to be terribly hard. I step around you and face up to him and he leers at me. He's going to enjoy every moment. The baton tip rises but I don't break eye contact with him.

"No," I tell him, "You don't understand. You're looking at the future."

He grins at me, because I've given him the excuse he wants.

"The future looks like this," I say, "And you are not invited."

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[Note: This is an entry in the Heroism - the Oggbashan Memorial Event 2023.

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