Screams rend the air as horns honk and voices rise into the stagnant heat. People shove and punch between dirt buildings, fighting their way forward. Glass smashes. Bodies move as a wave, and a collective roar goes up, incoherent and overpowering. Someone stumbles, is trampled under hundreds of bare feet. Hungry hands reach through the bars and broken glass of the store, grabbing, straining. A single loaf of bread rips into pieces, born aloft until it is flying through the air. Then it is lost in the chaos.
He draws a circle in the orange dust with his bad foot, leg shaking only slightly. The sun moves higher in the sky as he waits, beams of red-orange light piercing through the gaps between the buildings. An emaciated stray dog runs past in the street, nails clicking on the hard backed dirt, eyes afraid. He feels the eyes of the people next to him following it along hungrily, and the corner of his mouth twitches. It won't be here long. Somewhere down the line, a baby squalls.
He stands awkwardly, weight balanced precariously on his good leg. Turnings his head to shade his eyes, he winces again. It's been hours. Will be many more. People are still arriving from outside the city, faces drawn and tired.
A car explodes, and sudden flames stretch towards the dirty sky, an acrid smell permeating the crowd. They flow past it, turn as one down another street. Thin arms wave wildly with the breath of the crowd. A gun shot echoes. Someone screams, voice drowned out. A bottle smashes on the wall, showering the mob with flecks of sparkling glass. They are wilder now. Hungrier. Another shot rings out. But they are too many. A shop door crashes inward, and people shove from behind, crushing up against the frame as grain spills onto the linoleum. Behind them, an emaciated man, side swollen and bruised, falls to the ground.
Fiddling with a piece of grass between her fingers, she crouches under the tree for a minute, looking out at the parched fields. Down the slope, the mud has dried into lumps, freezing a herd of cows' last footsteps. For an instant she is tempted to shove the grass in her mouth, but she doesn't. Insects form clouds in the hazy sky, incessant humming mingling with the dull noise of the cars somewhere ahead, hidden by the trees. She wipes sweat from her brow and stands up, hand resting on her huge, rounded stomach, and shell necklace bouncing on her chest. She moves forward, long walking stick clutched tightly, and trudges up the hill towards the fence.
They advance in a solid line, machine guns awkward behind plexiglass shields. Another bottle smashes on one. They duck a little but do not stop. Acrid black smoke rises into the air. Another store front goes in, shopkeeper dragged out bodily and thrown to the ground, forgotten.
The top of his head hurts from the heat of the sun as he stands, motionless. It seems as though he's barely moved in all the time he's been here. He glances behind him, at the long line of thin people stretching out until it disappears between the buildings. There's a pregnant woman is rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around her shoulders. She's been here almost as long as he has. And at the edge of his vision, he can see the people at the front of the line leaving,arms full. The air is full of gasoline fumes and car alarms. City sounds. The crowd is getting bigger, and as he watches, more people begin to appear from around the corner. Their arms are empty. A shout goes up; “They closed the line!” and a murmur passes from person to person, an electric current. People begin to stir restlessly, clothing rustling angrily, as the newcomers try to join the line. Someone's arm reaches out, shoves one away, but they keep coming. Angry shouts spread.
Then the metal grate at the front of the line slams down, and the last people dart away into the alley. No more bread, no more food. He sees the woman in front of him carried away on the sea as the bodies begin to writhe.
A loudspeaker voice orders them to disperse; it is drowned by the raised voices. A crate of coca cola opens, bottles scattering, rolling along the concrete underfoot. Sugar hisses as a bag is ripped apart, exploding through the air as people open their mouths to catch it. It falls as rain onto the silver hair of an old woman, leaning, eyes closed, as if in rest against the graffiti-smeared plaster wall behind her back.
She can't tell which way is up and which way leads only back into the chaos. Someone's arm slams into her mouth, and she throws a hand out to catch herself, feeling the force of the tide bearing her along. Out of control, her arms raise of their own accord and she begins to fight, keeping her head up. From every side, they press on her, and then the wall is behind her back and she is trapped, and the bodies are going to crush her and someone's elbow is in her stomach and... And then another arm grabs her, pushes her forwards. The gait is off, a hobble, and she catches a glimpse of a mangled foot before she's tripping over something large, flying backwards. Then she's lying behind an overturned stall, clutching her stomach. She catches a glimpse of a thin face, a long-fingered hand on the dirty canvass, and then there is nothing but more screaming.
Another hiss fills the air. Choking, gasping, people begin to stumble. But the roar continues. A machine gun opens fire, echoing throughout the city. A grenade explodes. More bodies collapse. They falter.
She lies among the smoldering remains, forgotten between bodies and trash littering the dirty street. The prison trucks are gone. In the distance, an occasional shout or brief explosion shakes the silence, but they are few and far between. It is over. One leg is twisted awkwardly under her body, her brightly colored skirt dirty and torn. Someone runs past, but she does not hear them. The sky spins above her as the first stars appear. A piece of something—trash, fabric, a plastic bottle—skitters past, caught up in a tiny breeze. She sits up to look around her, looking for her walking stick. It's disappeared. Though her eyes water from the pain, she holds herself up, staring at the dusky shadows of the street around her. A body lies at her feet, covered in burns and scattered pieces of broken glass. Her eyes travel down the length of the body, see the pant leg fading to nothing, the missing foot. Clutched in his hand is a piece of bread.
Reaching forward, she cries out in pain, and rocks back once more.. She reaches again. Her fingers brush it as blackness begins to crowd out her vision. Then she has it, and shoves it in her mouth. Chews. Swallows.
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Original:
Spoiler! :
Maybe I should add a scene about that? However, the man is sick, not hungry--hence the stomach aching. I guess I wanted it to be something internal and more serious, and have him be choosing to try and pay for the medicine with the beans instead of eating them. Though I guess stealing would be likely too. Anyway, I'll think about it. It's logic errors like this that usually drive me crazy, so thanks. 
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