I knew about ABulHassan's martyrdom at dawn, as soon as he was shot. I did not sleep
Martyr Abolhassan was a med school student, killed at the MOD sit in. When his friends went to his room to gather his stuff after his death, they found a photo of Alaa Abdel Hady, another martyr killed at the #QasrAiny sit in and was also a med school student at his university, hung on the wall.
I was on my way to the scene at 7 am. Ahmad Mansour came with me. Abul
Hasan was his friend. I only knew Abulasan from our Cairo Uni sit in. As soon as I reached the scene, it felt like Gaza after a Zionist attack. Everything was shattered and broken. Dead place. Dead city. Dead people walking by. People had put stones to frame the blood of the martyrs on the ground with.
The blood looked like Hennah. But the colour was not beautiful. There were lots of blood clots on the ground. I felt like throwing up. But I could not even shed a tear. My defense mechanisms were so strong.
Ahmad started crying hysterically as soon as he saw the blood trail stretch for 20 meters. Aggor met me at the entrance.
He hugged Ahmad and I patted Ahmed's back to calm him down. We kept screaming at people defending the SCAF, standing right next to the blood. I could not really understand how they could say anything in defense of the SCAF while standing beside the blood, no, they were standing right over it with their shoes.
And then we went in. The streets in Abbaseya, unlike Tahrir, are so wide. this meant that we would not be as able to guard the entrances as we used to do in Tahrir.
It was the first time I feel so scared. Why? I don't know.
But this time it was not the army or the police we were fighting against. It was armed thugs this time. They are more vicious, and that is why the security forces don't engage and let them deal with us in such situations.
We were shot at by people standing over the bridge. We were under the bridge. And then Aggor left me to go aid someone.
And I stood alone with Ahmad who could not get a grip, still realizing he had lost a friend.
We found two makeshift hospitals at the entrances.
The scenes were intolerable.
In Tahrir hospitals, we used to see people with no eyes, shot by birdshots, stones, keda.
But there, we saw people who were slaughtered, with their throats ripped open, and they were taken away from the scene, slaughtered at the road, and then thugs on motorcycles threw their bodies at the entrances as if delivering a message to us, threatening and intimidating us.
I kept taking pictures. And visiting the field hospitals to document all of that.
Women were collecting stones.
And it was not the first time I protest along side with Salafis, but it was the first time they protest against military rule.
It felt weird, especially after the shameful stance they took after Tahrir Woman had been stripped off her clothe at Tahrir earlier.
I kept telling them about Tahrir woman and how shameful their stance was. I came to support their right to protest, although I disagree with their demands, and yet I was so mad at them when I spoke of this girl, who was present by the way, helping at the field hospital.
They looked guilty.
They are extremists somehow, ideologically, for me, but they are capable of admitting their mistakes. And they did admit that. But it was not enough for me.
And then we kept receiving slaughtered people and people shot by bird shots from head to toes.
We received about 30 of those every 20 minutes. I am not exaggerating here.
They even threw molotov cocktails at children, burning them.
All I remember is that it was so hot and we were ambushed by military tanks from the side of the Ministry
and the thugs from the other side.
I saw thugs with swords, killing even children. It was the first time I see a bloodbath.
As if a huge amount of water had been spilled on the ground, but it was blood this time, not water.
We went to start a demonstration at the gates of the ministry, faced by the tanks, and then thugs attacked us from the other side and the scene was cleared.
I went home that day, leaving something at the scene. Something I want back.
As if you need evidence of blood after such a massacre.
I then went home to a family calling protesters thugs, believing whatsofucking ever the media tells them.
And I did not even have enough power to tell them otherwise.
I only felt victimized, not only by thugs and security forces, but by the whole community who would buy silly lies so easily.
I still hear the cries of old men at the gates screaming "Oh my God, they have thrown another slaughtered man. We need people to carry him. He might still be alive. Ya Allah, help us."
I am still angry.
I am still angry at myself for not crying and letting it out that day.
But I am doing so now. I guess. I don't want to remember the rest of what has happened.
May be it is enough for me now to deal only with what I can remember so far.
Why am I still alive? This is not a survivor's guilt.
Atef and ABulhasan were killed at the same time.
Why am I not even hurt?
Is it fair?
Is it fair to their families? is it fair that these people, who objected on the demands of this sit in, and only went believing that Salafis should not be attacked by security forces, no matter what their demands are and regardless of how much we disagree with them, be killed? They only went to support Salafis right to protest without being attacked by the regime.
And then they were killed by the regime, and later on, Salafis wasted their rights. It all went in vain when they cooperated with the regime again, and when they did what they did at the parliament.
It is just...I don't know.
May they RIP, may their families and us all be healed.
Why was Abulhasan denied his right to graduate after staying 6 years at med school and you know how hard that is? Why was Atef denied the right to marry his fiancee, Azza Helal, the woman in red coat who saved Tahrir Woman after she'd been stripped off her clothe at the square?
Attef Al Gohary was killed at the MOD sit in, ministry of defense.