A Reason To Fall

Prologue Footsteps clop down the path, heralding an army marching through the streets of downtown Belize City. Instead of swords or guns, they carry candles. Orange light flickers from their hands, reflections of their hope and spirit. The wind picks up. Their candles dance. I grip my microphone in my hands. This is my sword, my gun. Sweat makes my palms slick. I clamp my fingers harder and bring the microphone to my lips. The cameraman waves at me. I nod my understanding. We’re live in five. The wind tugs at my black bomber jacket and straight hair. It was raining earlier, but it calmed just in time for the recording. The sky is still cloudy. There are no stars. An eerie stillness fills the air, a sharp contrast to the protests echoing in the distance. I shuffle my feet. My high heels scrape the pavement. I’m on the edge of the sidewalk next to an Indian store that’s closed for the day. Downtown Belize City usually bustles with people, but no one except my crew and I stand on the street. The cameraman coughs. “Kylie… it’s time.” I straighten my shoulders and face the camera. My limbs relax. A small, professional smile climbs my face. I second-guess the impulse to grin. It doesn’t fit the occasion. My mouth clamps together. I worry my bottom lip. The army is closer now. I need to get this started. “The gun violence in the south side of Belize…” My voice warbles. I clear my throat and continue. “… has reached an all-time high.” The voices of the protestors carry in the background. “We want peace! We want peace!” “Belize City residents have gathered tonight to protest the recent killings in the south side. They have lost brothers, husbands, cousins and friends and they are tired. This—” I gesture to the crowd marching into view—“is an expression of anger. This is a cry for help.” “Peace in our streets. We want peace!” “That’s good,” the cameraman says. “Thanks.” I smile at him and gesture to the march. “Could you get footage of that? I’ll add a voice-over in editing.” “Sure.” While he walks away to capture the full extent of the crowd, I stand on the sidelines. Debating. Wondering. Should I join? I’m about to jump into the fray and walk a few blocks when I spot a familiar face. What is he doing here? I lift my arms to wave at him when the crowd takes off. It makes no sense. One minute, they’re walking in slow strides, faces cast in the orange glow of the candlelight. The next, they’re rushing through the streets and scattering down dark lanes. Screams pierce the air. ‘STOP THE VIOLENCE’ signs are abandoned and trampled. My eyes land on a hand stretching from the ground. Someone stomps it down in their haste to make it to safety. My heart thuds and the world spins around me. I draw nearer to the hand, nearer to the fallen. Oh, God. No.