PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti - The barrel of the .45-caliber pistol pointed right at me, held in the hand of a man with froth in his mouth, hate in his eyes and a finger that had already pulled the trigger several times that day.
"Don't shoot!" some in the mob yelled.
Behind me, a Haitian man, about 30 years old, clung to the back of my shirt, trying to hide, trembling in fear. In a corner of the small concrete porch where we stood, a photographer was curled in a ball, frozen by events.
"No, no, no!" I shouted, waving my arms. A rock smashed into my left arm, another hit my leg.
Then, a second of silence. Next, the shots.
As I dived over the wall, the Haitian man's grip on my shirt loosened as bullets tore into his head.
By the time I rolled onto the street, he had been shot five times. The gunman, whom U.S. authorities consider a member of the paramilitary group FRAPH, was laughing.
A film of the murder, captured by a television crew, showed the killer strutting to where I lay face down, gun barrel pointed at me. He walked over my back, and crushed his boot into my right hand.
Then, he walked away.
This was how a march for peace and democracy ended Friday.
It wasn't the first violent exchange between pro-military and pro-democracy Haitians since U.S. troops arrived here, and although Sunday was quiet, it won't be the last.
But it was illustrative of the violence that makes Haiti a danger to everyone here - Haitians, U.S. troops, journalists and others. And it underscores U.S. concerns that deposed President Jean-Bertrand Aristide will use the continued lawlessness as a reason not to return as he is supposed to later this month.
"It is clear the anti-democratic forces want to create a level of intimidation and violence to prevent the return of Aristide," U.S. spokesman Stan Schrager said. "We will do whatever is necessary to create a safe and secure environment."
But so far, troops - some of whom now will be replaced by U.S. military police - largely have stayed out of the violence, despite an impressive show of military might.
Friday was a good example.
Two hours before a memorial Mass on the third anniversary of the coup deposing Aristide, U.S. troops lined a major road into downtown. There were tanks and armored vehicles, soldiers at checkpoints and helicopters above the church.
A festive atmosphere prevailed: Shoeshine boys clanged bells in search of customers, food purveyors hawked their wares. Excited men and women waved frayed photos of Aristide; others wore scapulars bearing Aristide's image.
The march began with waves of people chanting "Veyeyo" - Creole for "Watch out" - the cry of Aristide's political supporters.
Waving branches of lila trees, drums pounding, the swaying down the street began. Songs that would have caused arrest, even death, just weeks ago were loudly recited.
The crowd moved down the hill from St. Trinite Cathedral a few blocks to Rue Pavee. From there, it turned south, marching down Rue L'Enterrement - Funeral Street - into the heart of the Morne a Tuf section. This area is home to hundreds of FRAPH, the paramilitary attaches notorious for their violence against Aristide's backers.
The march slowed, easing past crumbling two-story homes, each a possible sniper's den.
Two blocks from FRAPH headquarters, civilians ran to the marchers, warning that FRAPH members were waiting with machetes.
It had been less than 20 minutes since the march for peace had started. Peace was over.
Some people with the marchers picked up rocks and started hurling them at the FRAPH attaches.
FRAPH members threw chunks of concrete in return.
And then, bam-bam-bam! A FRAPH member fired an M-1 rifle. The march and the singing stopped.
Behind a tall green wall, Haitian police watched and made no move to intervene.
Minutes later, gunfire started again. The rock throwers fled, trampling the posters of Aristide and a banner reading, "No retribution, no vengeance."
A FRAPH attache attacked with a gun, but ran out of ammunition. The crowd set upon him, pummeled him with sticks and tried to lynch him.
The bloodied man was led away by news photographers to apparent safety; later in the day, his dead body was found close to the U.S. Embassy.
Meanwhile, the rock throwing and gunfire exchanges started again.
Four U.S. Humvee military vehicles arrived one block from the shootings. "This way, this way," the crowd shouted. The vehicles turned in the opposite direction, moving away from the trouble.
As the U.S. troops left, FRAPH attaches charged down the street, firing point blank. They captured the peace marchers' lead vehicle.
In it were cages of white pigeons and doves that were to be released at the end of the demonstration.
The FRAPH men took the birds to their hangout, La Normandie bar, and opened the cages. Birds that did not fly away were stomped to death.
An hour after the march began, it was quiet. Reporters moved through streets littered with rocks, spent gun shells, pieces of clothing.
Some civilians began to emerge from their homes, quietly trying to leave the area in case further violence erupted. It was too late.
With rum and beer fortifying their sense of impunity, FRAPH attaches came down the street, shooting where they pleased with pistols, M-1 rifles and Uzis.
One man walked by, his mouth holding a hand grenade by its pin.
Civilians and reporters scattered, diving into sewers, busting open wooden doors to flee into homes, racing down narrow alleyways.
With others, I moved behind walls of a concrete porch for protection.
A free-lance photographer from London named Mark stood dumbfounded in the street.
I waved him over, and told him to lie flat on the porch, his back against the wall, the concrete railing in front of him.
We were safe. Then, as the pattern in Haiti has been since 1991, everything changed quickly.
The young Haitian man - whom officials later said had not been in the march - saw us and tried to burrow underneath. He clasped his hands. His eyes begged for help. He lay under Mark and I as the FRAPH attaches ran by, shooting.
They had seen someone in a nearby alley and opened fire. Then, they decided to return to La Normandie bar, right by us.
The gunman, spotting us on the porch, approached. Despite the pleadings of reporters and some FRAPH attaches, he blasted away.
By the time I got up, the Haitian man's limp body was in a pool of blood, his white shirt from the University of Tennessee stained red.
Media colleagues carried him to an ambulance, but he died on the way to the hospital.
U.S. intelligence officials came on the scene to snap photos.
No U.S. troops came. They patrolled the perimeter of the city. At the same time, the city's streets remained anarchic and bloody.
At least five people died this day.
At 5 p.m., the U.S. soldiers left their positions.
The sun offered another magnificent sunset over Port-au-Prince bay.
Street lights came on, thanks to U.S.-provided fuel. And the crackle of gunfire began again.
