The two went out after the cuddling section, nothing more, realising the awkwardness they would cause if one of the people came in, seeing them like that. But wished they had stayed and continued, partly not cared about whoever was present.
They went retraced their steps starting from the Roman Forums, it was Tanya’s idea to visit the places at night. On their way, they passed through numbers of performers, mostly musicians with their acoustic guitars, some playing and singing drunkenly. The bright sounds attracting on-lookers and passers-by who could spare a moment to listen to them, but none bothered to hear the meaning behind their amateurish lullaby.
The columns of the Roman Forum were illuminated by powerful spotlights pointing at them, revealing shapes and shadows that would not appear under the light of day. The night of Rome has never occurred to Cay as mesmerizing as he imagined; the intoxicated sounds of self-indulgence from singing and playing guitars had never been so in peace with the legacy left by the former glory of Rome.
They smoked while leaning along the rail closest to the giant arch, speculating the two giant columns and the bridge connecting the two of its’ inhibited meaning of long-standing history. Corrosion of wind and water reducing it slowly, eventually would have turned it into ashes, but not before the passing of several human generations. Tanya showed no visible signs of leaving the ruins, Cay could not read her through her eyes because they were turned sideways. Even if he did, he would only be dazzled by her lusciously jade-green and honey yellow eyes.
The cigarettes had long since burnt to their white buds, they left the site after what it seemed to be half an hour. Onwards to the Colosseum, which was the obvious choice for anyone who knew the distance between the two. Cay have been there twice before, but it did not stop him from following her.
The façade of the Roman Colosseum was shown bright as well by a surrounding of strong lights, the ones inside of the monument shot theirs into the night sky, eventually blending into the darkness and disappeared. The scene made Cay thought of an American football stadium during a night match, with the non-existent bloodied gladiators replaced by people with bulky protection, preventing any serious injuries from collisions with one another.
They eventually reached a Catholic church in the city centre, which was hosting a concerto at that time. Seeing no reason to not enter, they went through the welcoming opened-gates, sat down, and listened to the tenor of a nameless opera singer. A woman with a large quantity distributed proportionately over her body emerged to join the male singer, each matching their lyrics and pitch, a perfect harmony was created, the church seemed brightened a bit more. The lit candles shaking furiously as their voices echoed throughout the medium-size church.
They eventually left after two scenes, leaving some Euros in the offerta box and continued their journey: to the Fontana Trevi, the Piazza di Spagna, the Largo di Torre Argentina. It did not matter where they went, Cay was enjoying Tanya’s company, and Tanya did not seem to be in a hgurry back to the hostel.
They just went, as far as the night could bring them, roaming across streets to somewhere of significance, but not for the significance itself.
*
He could not believe what he was seeing, the Rohingyans were being abused by the armed thugs that were called the Myanmar military. The refugees offered minimum resistance, with the occasional cries of children separating from their mothers or guardians. People tried climbing over the fence but were either pulled back down before succeeding, or caught while escaping into the grass field. Men could never outrun machines with roaring tempers when accelerated.
The workers did what they could to stop the soldiers from doing what they were here to do: rounding up the refugees before sending them off to be slaughtered. The progress of the collections of militants were not hindered by their attempts, the effort pf the volunteers was just a mere response that contributed nothing. Somewhat comforting for the Rohingyans, but not enough to stop them from destruction and disparity.
The militia was not planned to be stopped, especially when the only thing between them and the refugees were a handful of volunteers, the latter could be shot as well without catching too much attention from social media. Judas and the others were in the murderer’s territory. Without so much of an resistance (Mya fought the hardest in an attempt to stop them from carrying away a child), the sheeps were rounded up and sent onto the reserve lorries just outside of the fences.
Mya was eventually knocked unconscious with the butt of an AK-74 by the soldier she was obstructing earlier. Laying with her right side slightly sank into the watery mud, her eyes closed, looking dead if not for the healthy colour of her skin. Several people had rushed to pull her up before she started sinking into the puddle, filling her lungs with mud and blood trickling down from her head.
Judas woke up from the trans after Mya was brought into the medical tent, with the doctor and nurses gone and only a few volunteers standing, still processing what was happening before their eyes. He looked around and saw the resistant mother being beaten to a pulp, the refugees were held back by muscular soldiers, desperately trying to reach for what was left of her.
There was a surge of anger coursing through him as he watched the inhumane act taking place all around him but kept himself routed. The refugees were all loaded except the ones left on the ground, half-breathing or lifelessly sprawled around, looking demented and undignified. The mother from just then had already choked on her own blood, filling up like a fountain and dripping warm blood through the side of her tilted head, her body resting on the stretched fabric of her tent, dragging one of the sides inwards.
There was no sight of a single Rohingyan that was alive, the rest were probably halfway through their last destination. The volunteers cleared everything as a start: rubbles, refugee belongings, dead bodies. Judas heard Mya’s wailing, almost sounding like an animal’s, not hers but a screeching wraith’s.
As he was helping to move some of the once-alive bodies into the evacuation point in the center of the camp beside the large tent, a body he saw, a rather small one. He went for a closer look and recognised it instantly, it was no mistake that the small body belong to the boy who was pull off from her later bludgeoned mother. He stood over him, feeling a unusual and guilty power over the boy, and picked him up, thinking the least he could do now is to take him back to where he belonged, to the now ravaged camp.
As he lifted him up, he saw the right side of the back head where it made contact with a a sort of high impact object, like the butt of an assault rifle. Crushed inwards with some bits of brain tissue dangling on the jagged and shattered hole on the cranium.
Mark came up to him and told him to return to the evacuation point, while standing beside Judas, staring into the pink and bloodied head of the boy.
“Make sure to lay him down with his mother.”, Judas said and felt Mark nodded in agreement, as if he came here for the same purpose.
“Here, pass the boy to me.”, Cay obeyed and did it without moving his eyes away from the cracked skull.
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