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We have come through the forest. Two hundred of us, maybe two fifty, split up into various blocs. Down the hill, into the road. Only one vanload of die politzei (the German sounds so much more dramatic) and they don't seem to care much. We take the street, banners and flags. Some chanting starts, I can't make it out. Everyone is filled with a kind of nervous, excited energy.
People start to walk a little faster. The walks turn into a run and suddenly I'm surrounded by voices, adrenalised, exhilarated, raised in languages I do not understand. The only message I get through is a fairly simple one. Run. So I do.
I turn. The one vanload has turned into six, and a line of the riot squad has unloaded. They're chasing us, batons at the ready, and I'm right at the back. We split, merge, disappear into the forests that the police seem unwilling to enter. I rest by a tree, searching out members of our group. Steady breathing. You're safe.
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http://hernameisomega.wordpress.com
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Kykeon
