Memoir: A Narrative Fiction

Decent Essays
He sat beside Alistair on the concrete close to the door. The two had managed to stay together since leaving the bus. With thirteen men sharing an eight-bunk cell, both were resigned to a sleepless night on the cold floor.
Most of their fellow inmates were aged somewhere between the late teens to mid-twenties. Anyone over thirty-five counted as old for Storm and Alistair was awfully close to that cutoff point.
A chunky man wearing a short-sleeved rugby league jersey, jeans and sneakers sat on the end of a bunk staring at Alistair. One corner of his mouth curled into an expression of contempt.
Storm looked at Alistair. “You know him?”
Alistair gave a slight shake of his head as he peered at the deep marks the handcuffs had left in his wrists. “No, but I can tell what he is.”
“What's that?”
“An agent provocateur.”
“A what?”
“Someone paid by the police to start trouble. He creates a reason to elevate the situation. For the police to resort to force.”
“Were you one of the
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I'm not surprised.”
“The place is full of people who did nothing more than sit and watch someone else take part in their right to free speech.”
“I'm not sure free speech exists any longer. There is a law protecting the right of the people to free political speech. Walter reminded the police of that!”
“Why aren't the rest allowed to go? Alistair told me they were legally allowed to speak on the University grounds because they were a registered political party.”
“A guy I met from Canberra. He gave me his telephone number.”
“Why did you have to be part of it? You saw what happened in the City yesterday morning.”
“I wasn’t. I was sitting and listening.”
“Are you okay? You don't look too hot. How about we have a coffee and then we head back home?”
“Sounds good. How was the graduation ceremony?”
“Okay. Nah. It was mostly boring.” She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly again. “You really do pong. Let's get you out of the rain for
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