With Sun on my back I cross the street to the town-hall.
My manifesto is written, I’ve pledged my loyalty to the movement. I smile at the blond gendarme; wishing that all could be different.
She calls: “Halte, monsieur”.
I keep on walking, my mission is to keep walking.
I hear her pulling her gun, and wait for the pain in my back to blossom.
“Halte, monsieur, ceci n’est pas une mosquée”.
People are running for cover. Not me it’s reverse logic, I’m unarmed but ever since the election we’ve been targeted.
But becoming a martyr is easier today.
With the election in France coming up, I’m concerned for a change that will affect us all. I wonder if ever such a movement will ever happen, but shooting at Muslims will most likely be more common…
Rochelle selects the picture and set the example. The rest of us follows and try to come up with a story in 100 words. This is Friday Fictioneers.
May 3, 2017