Flowers

Bullets soared. Like birds liberated from their cylindrical cages, they sought refuge beneath the skin of whatever accidental persons crossed their paths. Or flowers – yes, they were flowers; smooth gray petals falling to the ground with a gentle sound of clinking after the thunderous burst that announced their bloom. Flowers.

It was the kind of spring day memorialized in love poems and lighthearted haikus, with benevolent sunlight and a bright blue sky and crisply cool-yet-warm air. The difference between the actual day and the day as described by the weather were the throngs of people that flooded the Kent State University campus. Protest was the most potent of all drugs going around, and as more and more students poured out of the buildings, it was evident that the whole school was high on it.

All through the crowd there was the adrenaline of inspired fury, surging like an electrical current. While some students had been violent and militant over the past few days, others did not feel this same hatred. Allison Krause cupped her hands over her mouth to form a makeshift microphone and shouted, "Stop the war!" It was the only thing she hated in that moment; she did not hate Nixon, the soldiers, or the National Guard members stationed around the school. She hated the Vietnam War. To her it was a revolting, yet intangible beast, bloodthirsty not only for innocent lives but also hungry for the optimism and innocence she had once possessed. With every headline detailing atrocities committed or soldiers killed in combat, she felt herself become more and more cynical. It was these moments, however, that restored her faith in the world. She was part of something bigger than herself. Perhaps her voice, calling out for peace, would not be heard by many, but the collective voice of the group would resonate.

She walked with the crowd, her arm linked with her boyfriend Barry's. Together they meandered slowly forward, basking in the scene, soaking it up hungrily as though it was sunlight penetrating through their skin after a long winter. He nudged her as they walked by a National Guard member looking slightly less attentive than the rest. His eyes were downcast, yet his expression seemed softer than that of the other soldiers'. "Isn't that Meyers?" Barry said. Allison recognized the soldier immediately, and tried to catch his eyes, feeling like a child chasing vainly after a firefly. He didn't look toward her. "Yes," she said distractedly. She and Barry had met Meyers yesterday, before an officer had humiliated him for placing a lilac in his gun barrel.

"Say it," Barry told her, drawing her attention back to him. "Say what you told the officer yesterday."

Allison lit up with recognition, remembering her words. She nodded to Barry, although for some inexplicable reason she was nervous. Cupping her hands to her mouth again, she shouted in her loudest voice yet, "Flowers are better than bullets!" and elicited a few cheers from around her.

Almost simultaneously, however, an order was shouted into the crowd. Allison was deaf to it, but watched despairingly as people around her began to retreat. The National Guard members were approaching, their guns held prominent and offensively. Other soldiers threw tear gas, and as much as she wanted to resist, she was overtaken by a fit of coughing and sneezing. Tears welled in her eyes, which became bright red from the gas and persistent sneezing. However, genuine tears spilled over too, as she turned to Barry in frustration, shouting through the cloth she was using to cover her mouth, "Why are they doing this? Why can't they leave us alone?" Fear and aggravation had her shaking, with little earthquakes rumbling through her body. She barely realized that Barry was pulling her away from the soldiers, and that all protesters were retreating.

When she reached the top of the hill she'd been unconsciously climbing, she saw that the National Guard still followed the protestors. Frustration heaved inside of her, no longer a silent earthquake, but an explosive volcano, and she yelled at them, "We're not doing anything wrong!" They still pushed forward, and Allison felt disturbed as she realized that their faces were completely covered by gas masks. They looked like aliens, like malignant creatures from a science fiction novel. "Why are you doing this!" she shouted, louder now, her voice cracking. Her face was wet from a waterfall of tears, and her body shook as much as her voice. Barry pulled her arm. "Come on," he said in a low, calmer voice, though he was terrified as well. "It's okay. Come on, let's just go."

Allison dried her face with her sleeve and tried to catch her breath; the combination of the tear gas and her screaming and crying had left her winded. She let Barry lead her away, taking deep rankling breaths as she walked. She tried to calm down, but seeing the National Guard pursuing them, peaceful protestors, had detonated a sense of outrage within her. She could not calm down; she managed to stop her yelling but she could barely walk from the overflow of adrenaline in her. Allison took a long deep breath. Though she inhaled some of the tear gas, she did feel the touches of fresh air gently brushing her lungs. For a moment, in the midst of all the chaos around her, she felt peaceful. She took one last glance behind her.

Somewhere in the cluster of soldiers a curt order was issued. A gun was raised and aimed, and with a bang, those metallic flowers burst upon the protestors, blossoming like on the first day of spring. One Guard member, his face shrouded by the gas mask, aimed more carefully than the rest. As he was choosing his target, he made eye contact with a young woman. Could she see his eyes? He was almost certain, for he held her gaze for what seemed like minutes, though it must have been a mere fraction of a second. She turned her head away from him, and he pulled the trigger. A moment later, she crumbled to the ground.