Tens of thousands of voices, screaming in unison.

With our lungs, our hearts, our faces. Our bellies, our tongues.

Then Sumi was there, by my side. She had blood on the side of her face.

What happened?

It’s okay. Run. It’s coming. Now!

And then we saw it. A canister flying above us, a metal bird, wingless. Then another. We swirled again to avoid it, but the configuration was broken, the moment was gone. Too late. As it fell, slivers of gas escaped streaming out like thin white fingers.

Then, it started.

Your breath stops. Your eyes sting, like they’re being gouged out by an interning dentist. The nerves in your nose begin to explode. Panic. Panic sets in.

I grabbed Sumi.

I can’t see!

I got you. Just hang on!

Run!

Lari!

Run!

To the mosque!

Shit! The gas is in the mosque!

We ran up the stairs. My slimy sneakers slipped and I crashed onto the steps. My knee hit the white marble floor. My camera fell, heavy; my zoom lens thudded, then bounced with a splintering sound. Then, darkness.

My cheek was shoved onto coarse carpet. I opened my eyes, lungs heaving. I tasted gas in my mouth and I raised my nose upward to breathe. Above me, the cloud of gas still hung like a grey shroud. Others were on the ground, retching.

Loud weeping. Strangers vomiting. A large woman in a scarf sprawled on the floor, sobbing.

Ya Allah, Ya Tuhanku, tolonglah kami.

God, help us all.

The bastards had tear-gassed the National Mosque. A sacred sanctuary.

Fucking assholes! Fuckers!

Sumi hissed through a dirty towel. Her eyes were wild.

Here, breathe! It’s still damp.

She took it off and gave it to me.

Take it! You’re okay. You’re going to get a motherfucking bruise, but you’ll live.

She managed a muffled laugh.

I grabbed the towel and shoved it against my nose. Took deep breaths. It was pungent, sweaty, sharp, I almost gagged. Bile was threatening its way up my gut; I forced it back down.

I looked up to the domed ceiling, and its stark, lean curvature gave me a shiver of comfort. I turned around. The floor was covered with men and women, some prostrate, some lying down, some curled up in the foetal position. There was a dull ringing in my ears and the heavy sounds of my laboured breath.

You’re fine. You’re safe… Sumi muttered.

I nodded. Everything hurt. The insides of my head felt scorched. Fried.

Slowly we got up. Some rubbed their eyes in wonder, some were still in shock. Shouts of acute pain.

The cloud had dissipated; the air was clear again. As the air conditioning kicked in, vents sucked out the angry gas. Many had started praying, prostrate on the ground. Soft murmurs surrounded me.