Tiananmen Square.....

This man is showing great strength and it is somewhat a beauty to see one so passionate about his country and its people. I just wish he would get out of my way; I have a job to accomplish. I don’t know whether to run him over and make a statement to the other protesters, or simply stall here, stuck forever. I can’t run him over. He looks like he could be my brother’s age. For all I know, he could be my own brother. Squeak squeak…I try to rub the window clean, but I still can’t see clearly with all this head gear piled on top of my head and through this thick, murky glass of the tank. I hope to God that is not my brother. Even if we did have a fallout, and he ran away from home to join the protest, while I joined the army, in the end, he is still my flesh and blood. It is so hot in the tank that I have to take off my thick, protective gloves. I wipe the pools of sweat off of my palms into my uniform and grab the wheel to steer right. Oh, God, the man is moving with me- he scurries to his left. As I grab the wheel again to steer left this time, I notice the jagged scar on my left hand, in-between my forefinger and my thumb. My face flushes and my blood boils every time I think about what happened. My drunken bastard of a father had come home reeking of alcohol and stumbling into my brother’s room. I can still smell the cigarette he was so arrogantly puffing as he tried to kiss us goodnight. I pulled away and pulled the covers over my head. I guess in his intoxicated state of mind, this pushed his buttons. He grabbed my hand from under the covers and singed it with what was left of his cigarette butt. Szzzzz…..my piercing scream echoed through the neighborhood. My heroic brother immediately jolted from the bed and shoved our father onto the floor. I can only imagine what produced his purple eyes and bulging face the next morning. BANG! BANG! BANG! I’m zapped back into the present with the man on top of my tank, banging on the opening. I can hear him yelling, but cannot make out what he is exactly saying, through the thick panels of the tank. It’s nearly impossible to open the door from the outside, so I figure he will stop soon. If it is not my brother, maybe he could be a friend of his. I wonder if he is okay. I can hear the clink clink clink of the man’s shoes as he climbs down the side of tank. I hope he has given up. Much to my dismay, he reappears in the middle of the road, his face glowing with anger and standing with so much confidence and determination. There is no way I can run him over. He starts waving his bags at me, while shouting the same muted words. I am so much bigger than him in this tank, yet I cannot get myself to squash him like a little ant. He exudes bravery, which makes me feel like a coward. I suddenly feel like jumping out of this unbearable tank and stripping myself free of all rules and regulations by joining this man and his fight for freedom…