On Random Misadventure No. 2: The One Where I Get Beat Up by the Police in a Demonstration Part III

After my brief encounter with the Grim Reaper, who in my version turns out to be none other than the pedophile, effeminate Michael Jackson I woke up, to an unchanged scene where people were still running, screaming and flailing their arms wildly, like Smurfs attacked by Gargamel (Sharshabeel in the Arabic version). Sharp pangs of pain shot everywhere from my lower body, where most shoes and clubs landed-thankfully. An undressing session later (no I won't describe that, naughty you!) revealed patches of blue, green and red. I gave my bruises names; Masoud, Khaled and Imam.

A new pissed policeman was now standing right in front of me.

I don’t know what it is about me that sends policemen over the edge.

Picture this, me limping with one shoe off (remember it just dissipated away) half-blinded after my specs were smashed irredeemably to the ground, and my hair disheveled like a lion’s mane from the whole lying on the ground, getting beat up thing. I ran to a patch of ground, where green, lush grass would grow in better, sunny seasons where birds chirp and butterflies float.

It was winter.

I ran for a good 10 minutes in the mud all the time looking behind me trying to shake the policeman off. He was a persistent motherfucker, and he refuesd be shaken off. Then, suddenly, I heard deafening boom boom sounds. The policeman disappeared to thin air, just like he appeared. This was it. They’re shooting at us now.

I started to cry.

Me: Weird, I don’t feel sad or anything, why am I crying? Could there be a touchy-feely, sensitive guy inside me who actually cares for World Peace and all that shit?

Turns out the police were firing tear gas bombs into the university now.

Things quieted down. All you can hear was the whimpering of injured students or students in shock, all you can see was the tear-gas fog masking the unseen sniffling. I sat on a bench, still bawling, wiping off my tears, gasping for air and producing all sorts of unknown-before-to-me fluids from unknown-before-to-me orifices in my face.

Ahmad, what happened to Ahmad?

Close to the main gate, where the police and all their goons were stationed, a figure appeared, shuffling around, back heavily hunched, his denim bag slanted behind his back, in an Eeyore-like demeanor.

AHMAD!!

The tear gas, what about the tear gas, he can’t be too lazy to be immune to tear gas?

The gas was actually being blown away from him and the area he wandered safely and untouched was a hollow vacuum devoid from gases and shit.

The image caused me to experience an emotion only an elite, blessed few will experience in their entire lifetimes; crying and laughing at the same time.

Me: Hehehe, mmmmm, waaaa, sniff sniff, HA HA HA, mmmmm, ehe2 ehe2!

After the fiasco was over with, a few students hurt, a couple imprisoned, glasses smashed, clothing ripped(no big deal) I caught up with him and asked him what the hell was he doing close to the main gate and the frenzied police?

Ahmad: I was looking for my cap, man.

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