Riot
If it were not for the multicolored lights that surrounded us, I swear you would have been able to pick out each individual star in the sky for the night was so clear. The quiet was kept at bay by all the squeals and squalors of the crowd. People were everywhere, laughing, talking, bellowing. Music blared from every direction. Smoke and other smells issued forth from the vendors that surrounded us. When I looked up, the ski lift loomed above me, carrying people across the fairgrounds. It was all enough to give me the beginnings of a headache.
Life seemed to pass me by as I sat on a bench with my cousin, opening night of the California State Fair. It almost felt like I was sitting in a big glass tank, looking out at the world happening around me. I could tap on the glass loud as I wanted, yet no one would be able to hear me. This suited me just fine.
The fair had been huge, exhibitions everywhere: livestock, horse shows, art contests, food, and shopping. We were tired. Our legs were cramping. Our sunburns were sore. Needless to say, our moods were not completely pleasant. I had been visiting my cousin, Ashlie in California for almost a week now, and we had been living a mile a minute since I’d arrived.
We were just waiting for the night’s finale. It was almost time for the fair’s opening night fireworks show to take place and then we could go home. That is why we were sitting down on the bench. The view was perfect. It did not matter which direction the sky-sparklers came from, we would be able to see them. The crowds seemed to mostly be standing on the sides, near the vendors, and our bench was situated right in the middle of the walking lane. It was as if we were sitting in a clearing right in the middle of a sea of people.
After a few minutes of quietness between the two of us, jets of red, green, and white raced upwards to our left, leaving scars of smoke in the sky. The lights in the air fought valiantly for the attention of the crowds. It was a losing battle, however, as most people’s attention was still occupied by the loud fair rides and games.
After a few minutes of this light-war the ground beneath my feet seemed to project vibrations upwards. I could feel the pulsation taking over my body: first through my toes, then into my legs, and finally up my spine. It was as if a herd of elephants was stampeding on the pavement.
As I tore my eyes away from the shooting pyrotechnics, people began racing towards me, past me.
The sounds of hundreds of people’s feet were nothing to the screams that began to shoot through the air. These were not the normal sounds of people enjoying the swirls and jumps of a miniature roller coaster ride. These were the terrified howls of women who think that something is after them. Their voices carried through the air, piercing my eardrums. Men’s voices began to bellow at those around them, “Run!” and “Get out of the way!”
I looked at my cousin bewilderedly. She looked right back at me with the same expression on her face. What was going on? Were we in danger? Could we actually be standing in the middle of a terrorist attack?
For a split second I felt abandoned, alone, in a sea of screaming terrors. And yet, it seemed that in a matter of seconds, police officers—both undercover, in uniform, even atop horses—were running towards the fireworks, in the direction that everyone else was coming from. I couldn’t tell which thought was more frightening: the fact that the police had to be there to protect me, or that they were leaving me, running towards the danger.
