AN; this was an English assignment, and the inspiration came in part from watching Bloody Sunday for Human Right's Day at school. My friend liked it, and I thought I may as well post it, so...

~Eleri~

One event can be a lot of things. It depends who you are, who's side you see it from. Some events can be happy for some and sad for others, some can be happy for all concerned, but there are some that are worse. Maybe you've lost someone or something important to you. Maybe you've just made a mistake. No matter what, the consequences don't ever leave you alone. Guilt, fear, pain, anger, hurt, loss, they're there to stay. And sometimes, no one can explain why it happened. It just did.

I tug anxiously at my skirt and shift from foot to foot. The tension in the air is weighing down on me like 50 tonnes of seawater. Nothing's happened yet, but it's there, like a wild animal waiting to pounce. The crowd is moving slowly, step by step, down the dusty road. There's a muffled sound of voices, chanting the same slogan over and over and over –

"Freedom from oppression! Freedom from fear!"

I hadn't intended to come here today, but my boyfriend dragged me along. I glance at him now, still clutching his arm, and he smiles reassuringly.

"It's fun, isn't it?" No, it's not, but I haven't got the heart to tell him that, so I nod and keep walking.

We've gone maybe thirty feet when the confusion starts. There are people walking back towards us, yelling at us to turn around, but their words are unclear, meaningless, and go unheard by most.

And then it happens, a single crack that splits the air in two. I've watched enough television to recognise that sound for what it is. I turn anxiously to my boyfriend and demand "What was that?"

He starts to reply, but only the words "I don't…" escape his mouth, because the air is abruptly filled with cracks and screams, and I'm being jostled this way and that. He grabs my arm and starts pulling me towards a nearby shop. For an instant, I'm completely out of it, no idea what's going on, and then my brain clicks back into gear again and registers the situation. Someone's shooting at us.

We've reached the shop door, and the street behind us has begun to empty. My boyfriend opens the door and pushes me inside. There are other people inside already, and they look up as I enter. One little boy clutches his father's hand, eyes wide and scared.

Another crack assaults my ears, only it sounds closer somehow. The people in the shop gasp, or cry out, the boy whimpers and hides his face in his father's shirt. Then something falls against me, something heavy, and knocks me to the ground. I struggle to stand up and see what it is but instantly wish I hadn't. My boyfriend is lying on the ground, blood seeping through his shirt. I retch and look up, away from the terrible, sickening sight, and my eyes move to the door, which is still open, and up towards the sky. There's a helicopter in the air, its whirring propellers creating a sullen contrast to the cracks of gunfire. And then, there on the roof opposite, I see a face, a young man, and a glint of light off his gun. He's in uniform. I think he sees me looking, because he turns away, and then I throw the door shut.

There are hands waiting to comfort me. The little boy leaves his father and tugs at my skirt, and I let them lead me inside and sit me down, but I'm not really there anymore.

The captain's hand is still out, and he's peering at the crowd gathered below. Nervously, I smooth my uniform and shift the position of my gun. It's my first real assignment, and I want to make a good impression. Our CO's words ring in my ears, 'keep them under control. Arrest's only. Don't shoot unless it's absolutely necessary. And shoot to injure, not to kill.

I've never shot at a human target before. Not to kill and not to injure. I'm not in the army because I like it, I'm here because I had no choice. Money was short, it was a solution...

I turn my thoughts back to the crowd below me. So many people moving in one direction, their chanting voices easily reaching my ears, their slogan...two years ago I would have been down there with them. I still would be, given the choice. But I'm not given the choice, I'm here instead. It's not this life that I want, I'd rather be a student, fighting for my beliefs. My brother's down there, and his girlfriend. My little brother.

At the far end of the street, there seems to be some sort of commotion. It spreads down towards us fast, until the crowd seems to be trying to squeeze itself into the small space in the dead centre of the street, between two intersections. The captain's hand drops, and one shot rings clearly across the street. Not mine.

The noise of the crowd gradually fades away, and then the other soldiers start shooting until that's all I can hear. The people below scatter, but I can hear none of their screams. Someone's yelling at me, the captain I think, but I can't hear his words. I'm not shooting. I can't bring myself to shoot.

And then the first person drops. The people around him jump away, one of them steps back and slumps to his side. I'm mesmerized by the action below me, and I still have shot a single round.

There are more people down, and the street is emptying out. The captain's by my side now, and yelling in my ear.

"You were given an order, soldier! Shoot! Now!"

Steeling myself, I look across the street. There's a man at the door of one of the shots. I aim slightly above him, just to scare him, and pull the trigger.

Something jolts my aim and my bullet hits him square in the back. He topples forwards, into the shop. For too long, I don't move, and a woman looks out of the door, straight up at me. She's too far away for me to see her expressions clearly, but she looks shocked. I force myself to turn away, unable to hold her gaze, and when I look back, the door is closed and my captain is gone.

I killed a man. It could have been anyone. It could have been my brother. It could have been me.

I glance down at my girlfriend, who is still clutching my arm. She doesn't look happy to be here, and I smile at her in an attempt to calm her nerves.

"It's fun, isn't it?" She nods, but I can tell she doesn't really think so. Maybe I shouldn't have brought her here today. She's a pacifist to the core, hates violence of any kind, and I can tell her mind is on all the failed marches that have ever taken place. Maybe I shouldn't have brought her…

I'm enjoying myself though. It's thrilling, being a part of such a big crowd, all wanting the same thing. I never was one to be walked over, even as a kid. I was never bullied, even when I was small.

Suddenly, people are coming back towards us. The march has turned to confusion, and no one's sure what to do or where to go. My girlfriend grasps my arm tighter and I cover her hand with mine. The people coming towards us are yelling, and I strain to hear their words. Before I can make any sense of the jumble of noise, a gunshot rings through the air.

"What was that?" My girlfriend asks, her voice quivering. I begin to answer, but most of my reply is drowned out by the shots that increase in frequency then.

I feel her grasp slacken slightly as the crowd pulls her away, and I reach over and grab her arm. My mind is spinning, trying to explain the events and to find us a way out at the same time. Instinctively, I begin dragging her towards the side of the road, to a shop door, anywhere that will provide shelter. She seems too scared to do anything herself.

The rest of the crowd seems to have had the same idea, and the street is clearing fast. It seems to take us years to get to the shop door, but we reach it, finally, and I jerk it open. There are other people inside already, and I push my girlfriend in and begin to step in myself.

My hearing suddenly seems to become so much clearer. I can hear the whirring of a helicopter's propellers above me, a little boy whimpering, a collective gasp from the people in the shop. For a second I'm frozen, and conscious that everyone is looking at me, and I wonder why they look so shocked, so scared. Then the pain fills my chest, sharp, overwhelming pain, and I hear one last sound.

Bang. Bang. You're dead.

Somewhere, in an empty front room looking out onto what was moments before a busy street, a radio program is still playing. A few words float out on the air;

"shooting…panic…dead…don't know…can see 5 down…"

It doesn't matter where it is, or when it is. It could be in Northern Ireland, or it could be in Mayanmar. It could be somewhere deep in Africa, or it could be in East Europe. No matter where it was, it was a mistake, and some mistakes can't ever be taken back. No one meant for it to end that way, no one planned that lives would be lost, but it did and they were.

Who's fault was it? Who knows. It was no one's fault, and it was everyone's fault. Who'll get the blame? Does it matter. A mistake was made, and it can't be reversed. Ever.