The following was transcribed earlier today in a small bunker in Faisalabad, Pakistan.
I never intended it to happen, you see. None of us intended...this. It was supposed to be a peaceful protest but it just spiraled out of control. You have to understand that it's a tense situation — it has been for a while. They keep cutting the gas supply but prices keep going up. Everyone is so angry that...I guess in hindsight, at least, something was bound to go wrong.
So we get to the gas company and people were yelling, screaming. It was loud and a little scary, so naturally I start screaming, too. I was also hungry, which never helps. It was well past my feeding time and everyone always talks about how cranky I am when I get off schedule. Well, suddenly everything just went pear-shaped, you know? The cops showed up, which never helps these days given how poorly trained they are. And let's not get started on the well-documented corruption that is a direct result of how little the police are paid. It's a shame, really.
But, yeah, the cops start threatening people, pushing people and yeah.... I don't know who picked up the first stone. Maybe it was one of my uncles, or a neighbor. I don't want it to be but maybe it was me? I remember thinking how shiny the stones were and that I wanted to see what one tasted like. I went to pick one up, fumbling around a bit because of these almost useless little hands — most days I have a hard time just holding on to my bottle, you know — but finally gripped one. It was super smooth. Felt pretty cool, actually.
I'd like to think what happened next was an accident. I get a little excited sometimes and being sleepy really fucks with my motor skills, pardon my French. And, again, everything was a little off schedule. Mom was planning to put me down for my afternoon nap when we got back from the protest. Anyway, suddenly my arm just flung forward and there went the stone. I honestly don't think it was one of the ones that hit the cop. I don't even think it went more than a foot or so. But I accept responsibility for my part in what happened...I really do.
After we were taken in, it was just a shit show. The processing took hours. I was questioned, fingerprinted...booked for attempted murder. I could hardly believe it that it was happening to me! The media was there at our first court appearance, shoving these really soft and fluffy-looking microphones in my face — I just wanted to hug them! It was surreal, man. I admit that I am more than a little ashamed that I cried. You never want to let them know they've gotten to you. But I hadn't been changed in hours and, really, this is the worst thing that could have happened to me. Other than a drone attack, of course.
So bail was set and, luckily, mom and dad were able to tap into our extended family for a few rupees and I was released. Well, we're no dummies. I've become some sort of poster child for the state's campaign against "mob violence." So, yeah, I've skipped bail. Gone to ground, on the lam, whatever you want to call it. We had no choice. But word is already out that we're here in Faisalabad so, unless we move again soon, it's only a matter of time before they find us. And I can't go back to jail, man.
So that's it. That's my story. No matter what happens, I just want to make sure my story is told. So, uh, you got any milk in those things or are they just for show?