This story is part of the literary competition created by In Trieste magazine “Winter in Trieste” which was open to all writers living in Trieste.
by Emily F. Cordeiro
“There is talk of a freak snowstorm tonight,” said the leader of the counter protest group. Then added, “but you never know with these weather reporters.”
The mood was one of excitement, even joviality at the San Marco Cafe. Rosa too was excited but it came tinged with an air of reserve. This was her first protest. After moving to Trieste from Rome, her classmates at the University of Trieste were the first friends she had made. The constant and delicate clinging of cups in the cafe sounded to her like a merry little Christmas melody.
A tune that played in the background as the counter protest leader cleared his throat and announced that at the piazza they would be outnumbered, and they would be met with fierce resistance, and they would need to act as a cohesive unit. “And above all” he continued “remain calm and make sure the television cameras capture our signs. It is vital that the message be received in a peaceful manner.”
The frigid wind was nipping relentlessly as they marched to Pizza Unita. Rosa wished she had not forgotten her mittens. As they rounded the corner that led into the large sea side piazza, they were greeted by a massive leviathan of protesters. Their cries and chants could be heard from Opicina. They seemed to roar with one voice, which to be honest seemed more than a little intimidating. They too carried homemade signs. “ Allright, let’s set up at this far corner,” the tall handsome leader gestured towards an empty spot near the World War One memorial.
A local Rai truck could be seen parked nearby as a TV crew emerged. Shouts of agreement clashed in the unsympathetically cool air with shouts of condemnation. Rosa could not help but imagine for a moment that the fierce battle cries would merge and create a pocket of hot air above them all. Both groups began to crawl closer together, much to the consternation of the sizable and very present police force.
Growling, snarling and wild, the two groups eventually clashed. Rosa does not know who began the melee, or who hit her in the head with the rock. All she remembered when she awoke was that she thought she had seen a dear friend of hers in the belly of the enemy and the light flakes of snow that began to fall delicately on her face.
