Years from now, I’ll remember the sounds of bones breaking. Because they hit us with batons, and we fight back with fists and feet and metal bin lids. And I don’t know where to look, where to run, who to fight, because all around me, my friends are being dragged and beaten. So I look up, beyond the buildings, to the sky, and wonder, who is looking back? Who is seeing this? In all our humiliation and heartbreak, who is witnessing us?
