May, 2017. Caracas, Venezuela. Protesters are gathered on the highway to fight against the dictatorship and defend their human rights. Hunger and lack of medical supplies leave no other option than the aggressive confrontation against the armed forces, blind to the suffering of their countrymen.

The echo of detonations and cries for help are heard in the vicinity, some protesters begin to put on their gas masks, helmets, heat gloves, eye protection, etc. Others, merely a rag soaked in baking soda to neutralize the tear gas.

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A group of six friends gets close to the place where civilians clashed with their armed oppressors, determined to help anyone who may need it. Los guerreros (a ragtag band of young men and women, armed only with wooden shields and Molotov cocktails). Against them, the military police in full riot gear made tear gas bombs rain and shot lead pellets at anything that moved.

Maybe a bullet from time to time.

Andrés: Do I have the mask filter properly fit? - He asks Marco as he puts on his gloves.

Marco: Yes, easy, and me? - Looks quickly at his friend, worried by the tear gas bombs that fell closer each time.

Andrés: Yes, be on the lookout, the tanks are close - He grabs the baking soda solution atomizer in his pocket with trembling hands.

In a matter of seconds, the six friends are swallowed by a stampede of people running in the opposite direction to where they were going.

Juan: Do not run! If we stay together we can all go through the barricade! - He screams into the air hoping the public would heed.

Bombs fly over their heads. They come from 3 different directions. The highway is a two way road.

Andrés: They are behind us! They cornered us! They cornered us ! - He screams as he takes his friend Marco's arm.

They challenge the tide of people, trying to help the fleeing protesters, spraying Maalox into their eyes and mouths to soothe the aching. Projectiles of all kinds land in their vicinity.

Suddenly, they find themselves alone, with few people between them and the approaching block of black, gray and bloodlust that is the military police with their water-blasting vehicles.

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The only option is to run.

Andrés takes Marco's arm, his friends do the same with their assigned partners. Nelson and his girlfriend Mariana; Juan and his brother Carlos. The most basic rule of survival in protests, never stay alone.

Marco: Meet you back at the mall! - Shouts to all his friends who are already far ahead.

Shots of pellets and explosions similar to those of fireworks deafen the protesters who run for their lives, suffocated and blinded by the dense clouds of gas.

The swarm of MP bikes spewing round after round of bombs and pellets gain quickly on them. Every pair makes their way away from them as best they cand. Andrés and Marco are being left behind.

Andrés: Marco, bro, leave me here!, I do not think I can run anymore, leave me! - He says as he stops the march and collapses on the hot asphalt.

Marco: Are you insane? Stand up! While I'm with you, they're not going to get you.

Being captured can mean many things. Rape, torture, psychological terror, extortion, disappearances ... All common situations for those in the hands of "justice".

Andrés takes the hand of his friend and stands up, using the last of his energy to start running again. The situation looks dire, the MP follow behind them and loom above their way out from a higher street.

They run on.

Nelson: Look at them up there! - Points to a guard who appeared at the top of the highway. He aims at them with his tear gas-loaded grenade launcher.

He starts shooting.

The group of friends quicken their pace, miraculously avoiding the bombs until one lands in front of them.

It's a dud.

Finally, dozens of protesters manage to pass through the bridge that crossed the river and put some distance between them and the MP, aided by los guerreros, who stall the pursuing forces. The group of friends meet back at the shopping center. They remove their equipment to be able to speak with comfort.

Juan: Today was too much. Those men, they’re not human. We’ll never get through to them, let alone through their picket. This country has no salvation! - Speaks angrily to his companions who sit around him, still shaken.

Andrés: I cannot believe this s@%&! My wallet was stolen! Someone robbed me while I ran for my life, can you believe this? - Looks at his colleagues who are left with their mouths open when they hear the news.

. . .

This is a perfect example of the intensity of criminal activity and lack of safety in Venezuela. Phones, wallets, cars, even food-they’ll disappear if you look away for a minute. If you don’t look away, there’s always knives and guns. It’s a constant struggle for survival with no allies but many predators.

The day wasn’t over yet. It was routine for protesters to be thrown off the highway and regroup on a busy bridge in the city to continue protesting, and that day was no exception.

. . .

Nelson: Haven’t you guys had enough for a day? It’s worth fighting, but that’s just looking for trouble. Let’s go home and rest for the day - He says as they approach another focus point.

Marco: I came here to help people, not to run back home defeated – He says hestitantly.

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After about 15 minutes of helping suffocating people, the inevitable happens. MP motorcycles speed towards the protesters, guns in hand, looking to capture whenever wasn’t fast enough to flee. Pellets are fired point-blank at those who lag behind the fleeing mob.

Juan: Down that street! Down that street! - He shouts to his companions while pointing to a small road, obstructed by some debris someone had placed a few moments before.

Marco: Is there an exit on that street?

Juan: Yes, hurry up, we have the bikes on our back! - Adjusts his mask and helmet while running.

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Several people are captured by the MP, others are badly injured. The group manages to get away physically unscathed, an invisible force deviating what bombs and pellets were meant for them. The amount of gas in the air renders most masks useless. People start coughing, choking and passing out all around. Helping others becomes impossible for the group, as they themselves have trouble breathing.

They reach a dead end, a street that loops back on itself. They all fear this will be the end of them. They hear the roaring of bikes getting closer as they run. They don’t know where they’re headed, but they know they can’t stop. Forward is the only way left.

As if an angel had suddenly appeared, an elderly lady waves her arm at the group from inside a parking lot. The shaking woman takes some keys from her pocket and opens the door to let the six friends in.

Old Woman: Run! Run! Go, fast! – She shouts without taking her eyes off the road, where the MP would soon be.

Once everyone is inside, the gate is closed. Young and old, men and women, everyone hides between cars and behind columns.

The thunderous sound of motorcycles can be heard all around as the MP begin their search for protesters. The group of friends is once more saved by mere chance, when the MP decides to skip their location.

Just like that, it’s over. They survived the ordeal, unhurt and free. Not everyone was as fortunate. Who was that brave old lady? Why were they spared?

Those who were there believe that what happened has only one name.

Miracle.

THE END.

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This is my entry for the Supernatural Writing Contest! Many thanks to @jerrybanfield, @budgets and @gmichelbkk for organizing and sponsoring this wonderful contest that gives Steemit rookies, like me, the opportunity to grow in the platform. :)

I chose this story because that day was something that changed my life forever. I consider it a near death experience and a miracle. I think putting yourself in danger to help a friend is a supernatural kind of love. That day I started on a path of self-growth I continue on today.

This experience was more than a bad day, this was something supernatural. It was incredible to see the face of the national guards and see in their eyes what little they care, almost as if they were unaware that you are a person like them.

They ignore that you have a family, that you are a person who has a future in this world and that can make a difference, that you are only 22 years old and that you have most of your life ahead of you, that you could be at home playing CoD as usual, but you are there risking your life for their rights as well as yours.

They see you only as prey, they see themselves as animals.

Also, that day showed me the opposite side of the story. A simple friend like Marco risked the possibility of returning home safely so that he could rescue his friend who had no strength to move forward, and last but not least, the old woman, who had nothing to gain from what she was doing to open that door and even then she did, saving us from terrible things that would happen to us if the guards captured us.

I am a 22-year-old. I've lived a civil war, and my message to anyone who may be reading this post is that they appreciate the good side of life, hold on to the good and the honest side, even if it seems easier not to. Be true to your values; stand up for what you believe. You'll live a healthier life.

I really hope you enjoyed reading! Comment, Upvote and Resteem to get the word out!

Thanks and Steem On!

Sincerely, Andrés.