I sat scared in the fancying of what would happen now, since our incarceration in the camp field. Below the blue of the sky was the town, larger than any other, of Fisher Crown, a community captive in the unjustly safeguarding of the patrol. A mighty navy was alive at shore and out into sea, vigilant. Fisher crown also had its own mass of water. Overhead were the ever present vessels of the sky, high and watchful, with steady eyes. I can recall the tumult of voices in announcements by the police, armed in black, over people and empty squares. Dogs were there, malicious just as their mentors taught them to be. Strong heaving trucks, like tanks, also in uniformly addressed black, guarded the roads and the suberbans with heavy and thickened armor, strong with their loud rumble of machinery. I caught one of these passing me, conveying fresh fugitive crowds into the bay of the camping field, where many of them were delivered into compounds divided.
This camp clustered the town around, decorating the green around Fisher Crown in white tents and bunches of vehicles, in military order. From my standing, a newly placed road whent from here, into the houses and shops of the town. The man that had taken me away, planted me in other strange groups of weeping people, vague in their clothing. ''Be silent or we will release the hounds!'', pronounced a soldier, invisible by the face. ''Damn you, we have rights!'', cheered a few brave souls. A commotion began with frantic and harmonious shouts and cries. In the chaos, I was pushed in the sway of the people, raging, and I called for my mother, then my father, but I could not locate them. In tears I was caught by a grip, and Mr. Garcia was there. ''They're gone, taken to some other place, all of em.'', he said. He hurried me through hagard appearing people. I turned my head in the loudness of dogs and screaming, for they had released their savage hounds. The panic grew into a terrrible fight, and the guns were used. Wild sounds of disorder deafened me, with the gunning and trumendous shouts. The uncontrolable forwarding of raving men, taken from their world of the free creed, started in their barbairic fued through their captivity.
The violance sent me into a dramatic state of forgetting most of the escapefrom the violance. Nothing could have been seemingly close to the wild fight of those prisoners, I had regarded as in those few moments. I was turned, my tears vanished without delay. Before me dropped women and their husbands, men and their beloved, and the young, as the guns of the troops sounded into bombarding clatter. I had finally witnessed a massacre of martyrs, within feet of the dead and their bloodied spaces. A woman killed in the flying of bullets nearly touched my feet in her falling. Quickly, I turned with that helplessness, and viewed the same parallel of the bloody murder, with everyone around me being slained. Blood sprinkled upon my neck and shoulders, seeing that a man was chanced out by the firing of the guns, and had died upon my sight. He had fallen to my feet, as many others had.
Others were quickly caught by the blazing fury of the rifles, when they stood to my chance of protection. I fled weeping and with a filled throat, hid myself in the bushes of a placed tent, battered by the stricking of the bullets. In the worst fear I had experienced, I prayed without a breath and a rest for my lungs, perceiving that Mr. Garcia had fallen in the atrocity of the troops. He was killed in the swift deliverance of that clashing death.