As Parker walked along the street, he thought he saw something coming toward him. At first, it looked like a rather undefined mass, and he wondered if it could be a tornado. But, then, slowly but surely, some parts of the mass took shape, and he realized that it was a group of people. How many of them are there, he thought? For a while, he had no idea, but as the group came increasingly into focus, he could see that there were about thirty or thirty-five men, women and children in the group.
At first, he couldnft hear any sounds coming from the group, but then he heard chanting. What are they saying, he wondered. He tried to understand, but after a minute or so he realized that the chanting was in a language that he didnft understand. What he did understand was that the group was angry. And they seemed to be angry at him.
As the group got closer and closer to Parker, he thought about running. He could almost feel the anger of the crowd, and began to feel increasingly unsafe. Yet something kept him from running, and he thought that maybe he could reason with the people in the group. Whatever theyfre angry about, surely theyfll listen to reason, he thought.
However, such thoughts were short-lived, for the person at the head of the group, a man of about 25 or 30, reached back and hurled something in the direction of Parkerfs head. Parker ducked, and the projectile just missed his nose. Then, as he looked back in the direction of the crowd, he could see that most of the people were holding things, and before he knew it, four or five objects were hurled in his direction. Most of them missed, but one hit him squarely in the leg. It stung, and Parker saw red seep through his slacks. He reached down to grab his pants so that he could look at the wound, but he soon gave up on this plan as five or six more objects, which he now realized were stones, flew at high speeds in the direction of his head and body. He jerked this way and that, and managed to evade most of the stones, but again, one hit him, this time in the left shoulder. Parker heard something crack, and he now wondered if he had a broken bone.
He was now in a complete state of panic, and screamed at the crowd to stop its advance, but nobody stopped, and the leader of the crowd was now within ten or twelve yards of the bleeding Parker. Suddenly, he remembered that he had a pistol in his jacket pocket, and he grabbed it and pointed it at the crowd. He didnft want to shoot, but he realized that he might not have any other choice. If I donft do something, he thought, Ifm a dead man.
gStop or Ifll shoot!h he screamed. But the group kept coming at him and more stones were hurled at him. This time one found his nose, and blood poured down over his mouth and dripped down to the street. Parker felt weak, but he aimed his pistol at the leader of the group and shot. The bullet missed the leader, but it obviously hit someone, for everyone started to shriek at the top of their lungs and gather around a fallen figure that must have been standing behind the leader. Parker tried to see who had been hit, but he couldnft.
Then, all of a sudden, he heard some voices, coming from a different direction, and this time the voices were chanting in English. gYoufre a murderer, Parker. Youfre a murderer. Let the world condemn this murderer.h
Parker felt anger upon hearing these voices, and he wanted to answer them. But he didnft have time. For the crowd, which had stopped, now moved closer and closer, and stones soon filled the air. And as he got ready to shoot againc
Parker woke up. He was breathing rapidly and his pajamas were literally drenched with sweat. He shook his head a few times in an effort to remember, but it was no use. He could never seem to recall his dreams.
What time is it, he wondered, and then he switched on a lamp and looked at his alarm clock. It was already 9:30. Ifve got to get going, he said to himself. So, he quickly threw on some clothes, and then went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Then, he gulped down the orange juice and walked toward the door. No time for a real breakfast, he thought. The demonstration was scheduled to begin at 10:30, and he didnft want to be late.
On his way out, Parker picked up the sign that he had prepared for the demonstration. He had worked on it for a long time the night before. It was beautiful, he thought. On the sign, there was a drawing of a woman and a child, and both people were bloody. Above the drawing, in beautiful printing, there were the following words: Only Murderers Shoot at Stone Throwers. Protect the Innocent.
Parker looked at the drawing and the words, and then he hesitated for a moment and looked up. What is it, he wondered. Something seemed wrong. But, then, unable to figure out what was wrong, he quickly opened up the door and walked toward the elevator. He didnft want to be late.