Demo

<Sometimes a phrase gets stuck in my head and bounces around like a ping pong ball. It plays endlessly, over and over and over again, stuck on some continuous loop.

Sara sits across from me on the terrace, sipping on her lowfat soy mocha latte. She doesn't say much, and I'm not quite sure if she's ready for this. I'm about to hurt her, probably more than she's ever been hurt before. And instead of thinking how I'm going to break the news to her, that I can't stand her anymore, that I'm tired of her, that I want to move on... all I can think about are these two words from some stupid art class I took in my freshman year, a Latin phrase that refuses to go away.

Memento mori. Remember that you will die.>

Waitress
Here you go, sir. Grey, was it? I'm sorry for the wait. Our espresso machine has been on the fritz recently. Well, you know how that goes.

Grey
Oh. It's no problem. Here... that's about 15%, I think.

Waitress
Oh my... thank you, young man.

Grey
And, uh... here's for her drink, too.

<The waitress takes the money and puts it into the front pocket of her apron. She smiles and nudges Sara's shoulder, winking.>

Waitress
You have a keeper here, you know. I wouldn't let him go for anything if I were you!

<Sara blushes but doesn't say anything. The waitress winks at me, too, as she walks off to serve another table.

Thanks a lot, lady. Really.

Memento mori...

While Sara drinks, I do my best to consider what I'm going to say to her. But my mind refuses to settle. I squirm around in my seat and my eyes flit around. Looking at the tasteful flower arrangement lining the walls. The patrons inside the cafe, gathered around a TV set. The patterns cut into the stone patio below my feet, smiling suns and moons, like some ancient Aztec heiroglyphs. The way the sunlight plays on Sara's face, and the shadow her bangs cast across her eyes. She always seems so sad lately with her head hung down and her eyelids drooping. I think it's because she knows that it's coming. I wonder if she knows it's going to happen today.

It's not her fault. We had our time, and now we've drifted apart. I cock my head a bit to look her in the eyes but she casts her gaze aside, staring down at the ground.

Memento mori.>

Grey
I really think we need--

Sara
I love you.

<She grits her teeth and keeps her eyes fixed on some invisible something in the middle distance, never meeting my own. >

Grey
What?

Sara
I still love you. I know... I know things have been... I just don't...

Grey
Oh, Sara. Oh Sara.

<There's a long silence. Her tears well up and she starts taking quick little sips of her latte, using her free hand to fiddle with the buttons on her blouse.>

Grey
It's not--

<Suddenly,there's a sound of screeching tires. I turn my head to the street below just in time to see an expensive looking late model sedan barrel at full speed into a storefront across from the cafe. The collision is so violent that it sets off nearby car alarms. Smoke comes billowing in awful thick black plumes from around the car that wrecked.

Within seconds, there's a wild commotion as the people below begin to congregate outside and try to figure out what's going on. Some of them take out cellphones and start dialing, but it doesn't look like any of them are getting through. They dial, put the phone to their ear, wait for a second, then look down at the phone in confusion. I can hear quick flashes of conversations, and a lot of them are murmuring about riots downtown.

Some of the bystanders slowly approach the sedan and crane their heads to see if the driver is okay, but a middle aged man walks across the street, waving his arms in a wide arc, yelling, "Get away from there! The thing's leaking gas!"

Just as soon as he says this, the sedan bursts into flames, and the commotion redoubles as people back away from the inferno. Some of them try again to dial 911, but to no avail. Most of the cafe's patrons are out on the terrace now, looking at the scene below. They're talking about riots, too.

I get the feeling that something very, very bad is happening. Why couldn't it have happened ten minutes later?

I hear sirens and screaming coming from down the road. In the span of just a few seconds, the street becomes swamped with cars and pedestrians, all fleeing from something. The cars move slowly because of the crowd, but most of the drivers show no compunctions about mowing down anyone who gets in their way. It's like some sick paraody of the running of the bulls. The shouting and the crying is deafening, and the avenue is slowly becoming littered with people who have been run over or trampled. I look away, feeling ill.

Sara has a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, her face pale with shock. She meets my gaze and waits for me to say something. I give a single nod, and she seems to understand. Breakup plans are officially on hold.

I stand up and walk to the railing with the rest of the onlookers. From down the road comes even more commotion, and suddenly some of the people in the seething crowd below are calling out, "They're here! They're here!" I wouldn't have believed it was possible, but the screaming and crying gets even louder, and the crowd surges itself forward, the stampede becoming even more violent.

Then something catches in my peripheral vision. I look down the avenue and see a group of about ten people descend upon a terrified woman. She takes a few faltering steps backward, swinging her purse at them. But they drag her to the ground, clawing madly at her face and body. Then like lions on a gazelle, they begin to eat her alive. As the rest of the people on the terrace watch, it's clear that they're panicking now just as hard as the rioters below, and some of them run back into the cafe -- headed where, I'm not sure.

More people arrive and begin trying to feed on the poor woman. But soon enough she becomes so completely surrounded that the latecomers can't elbow their way through the mob. So instead, they move on, attacking an old man. He suffers the same fate as the woman.

I turn to Sara. She's rocking back and forth, sobbing. Hands over her ears to drown out the sound. Eyes clenched shut. I reach out and grab her hand.>

Grey
Let's go inside.

<Sara stands on shaky legs and follows me into the cafe. A TV hanging above the bar area is tuned to one of the big 24-hour news stations. A frazzled reporter is speaking at a mile a minute, but I can't hear her over the din. Below her, a headline reads "NATION IN CHAOS."

Looking down the stairs, I can see a couple of waiters on the first level trying to push a table against the front entrance to block it. But some of the patrons are yelling at them, gesticulating wildly. I can't make out the exact words, but it seems like they want to leave. I lean down, clasping my hands on my knees and cocking my head, to get a glimpse out of the window. The stampede out on the street is as violent as ever. But then again, those crazed cannibals the crowd is fleeing from inch closer to the cafe with every passing second.

A fight breaks out. One of the patrons grabs a chair and hits one of the waiters over the head. The others join the fray, and suddenly the entire bottom level is immersed in a brawl. In the midst of this chaos, someone pushes the makeshift blockade aside and runs out the door. Several others join him. The ones who don't leave the cafe come running back up the stairs.

I straighten up and stand aside, not wanting to get in their way -- the last thing I  need is to get me or Sara beaten to death.>