Finally, the guards stopped. In their thick black coats they stood there for a moment, the body still on the ground, red blood upon white snow. The body pale, pale like a porcelain artifact, still.

Hopeless, fear, anger, fear, sorrow, fear, bitterness, fear. A voice within told me to do something. I stood still. I stood and watched them beat the life out of his body, but their curses seemed to be intended on stifling his soul too. I was 15 years old. In our secret gatherings at night we cried out, embraced only by the comforting darkness. We whispered our cries, we dared not speak any louder.

"Why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning?"

I survived, I studied, I did research, I taught. I teach Fluid Mechanics and Aerospace Engineering. But meaning and purpose eluded me. I knew how to make a hulk of metal fly but I did not know why I survived, when all those years ago that man did not.

I am 77 years old, and about to start a class with some undergraduates. Then, loud bangs.

Everyone got down to the ground instantaneously, eyes darting about, uncertain. We waited, hoping it was nothing. It wasn't. More bangs followed, along with the screamings echoing from the corridor outside. We did not move, for fear.

And then the bangs became louder and louder. I could now tell what it was - gunfire. The bangs rang out again and again, and amidst the indistinct shouting and screaming one voice now stood out, a young man's.

I wanted to stay there on the ground, hidden, protected, The bangs grew even louder. That voice inside me spoke out again. Get up. Get up.

"Get out through the windows guys" I said calmly, fear welling up inside me with every step forward. I got hold of the door and closed it shut- just in time for someone to hit against it hard from the outside. Angry yelling. The young man.

I leaned and pushed against the door. Some of my students were still dumbfounded, looking at me from the ground. The hard thumpings on the door, the angry screams of the man.

"Get out now guys. GO!"


The last few kids snapped out of it, scampering and helping each other out the broken windows.


Not everyone was out yet!


I no longer cared about myself, my kids had to escape. I leaned my body, weary and tired and frail after all these years, hard against the door. I no longer heard the cacophony of everything around me, nor the man's screaming. I will not budge, no matter what. This is my body's silent protest.

I did not see the rounds, only the splinters of fragments exploding from the door. I did not feel pain, only the blood spilling out from everywhere. I fell, no longer able to move my body. My flesh gave way and the door was forced open. As I fell, my vision turned to the windows for a split moment, before hitting the ground.

The room was empty. They have escaped.

I was 77 years old.