Better dead than red?

I flutter down and perch atop a branch overlooking the street. Breathing in the stale air, I look down to see a row of tanks driving by. I wonder if there is a parade of some sort. What could the humans possibly be celebrating today? The tanks engines are blaring so loud, I can hardly hear the other birds chirping. Suddenly, I see a man in the street. He defiantly stands in the path of the roaring tanks. I usually watch humans all day, and this one seems particularly upset. He jerks his arms in an angry gesture. When the vehicles try to pass him, he continues to get in their way. For being so little (comparatively speaking), he doesn't seem to stand much of a chance of not getting crushed to bits by those behemoth metal beasts. (I would change to: Being so little (comparatively speaking), he doesn't stand much of a chance. Those behemoth metal beasts will crush him to death.) Now, I watch the man climb on the tank. I am intrigued by his lack of concern for his own well-being. Another man emerges from inside the tank. They are yelling at each other, but I do not understand what they are saying. A cold breeze passes and I shiver. Perhaps it is not a celebration at all, but a funeral.

THIS IS NOW.

THIS IS NOT NOW.

THIS IS NEVER.

I feel pain in the shards of glass in my chest, and the smoldering ashes in my eyes. Standing in one place for an inordinate amount of time, I feel pain.

I watch as they beat each other with batons.

I watch as some run away and others shoot them in their backs.

They light things on fire.

The explosions are deafening.

They scream

WHY ARE YOU KILLING US?!

I see red.

It streams down their faces.

It sprays onto buildings.

It flows in the streets.

It is the colour of

China.

It is the colour of

communism.

It is the colour of

blood.