Hi. If you’ve been directed here by friends, family social networking sites or by searching ‘random’ and ‘bordom relief’ into a search bar, well done, you’ve made it here. I tried typing ‘random’ and ‘bordom relief’ into a search bar and had no such luck. I have no idea how to create amusment but some sickening, twisted people are convinced my life would create interest amoungst the general people. I do not undersand how this would be but apparently you people enjoy reading about other people’s miserable, failed life. So:
First things first, I am not a bad person.
My name is Edward Leonardo Sam Smith, and all I did was walk down a road.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to describe thekid. Thin, young adult, black. I wasn’t really looking at him. I was trying to keep my eyes away. Because who wants to see something like that. No one. No one wants to be involved in that. The kid was crouched at the end of the street, curled over to protect his head and stomach, his hands clutching his shirt. He’d been that way since I turned onto the street. Longer. I could see him from the end of the empty street, but I did not run towards him. Infact, I slowed, slightly, hoping that some hidden person would come out and help the boy before I reached him. But no one came.
The street was empty. It was a Wednesday afternoon, the middle of the week and the street was empty. I’d just come from an important meeting to ‘branch out’ to some of the lower level markets in the darker side of town. I did not want to be here. I hadn’t felt safe since I left the building, and I couldn’t manage to find a taxi on this side of town.
I eventually reached the boy, my eyes unable to leave his fragile, aching body, my feet seeming to pound against the pavement in the silence. He was leaning against the wall and had fell slightly, his head resting on his knees. I didn’t think I had ever been this calm in my entire life. Some how this strange side of town had mixed up my feelings – making me feel unsafe when I was in no danger and now I was calm as anything even though there was a teenage boy infront of me who was possibly dying. A black boy.
I didn’t bother phoning an ambulance, knowing no state service would dare down this side of the town. No one wanted business on this side of town.
And niether did I.
I found myself walking on, past the boy, my foot steps quickening again, no where near the tempo of my heart in my skull but quickening. I watched them, my perfect shining loafers, waiting for them to turn around of their own accord, as they very oftern did, and go to help the boy, but they never, not until I reached the corner of the street before I found myself turning around.
The boy was stood now, his back straight, standing tall, his torn and bloody cloths hanging from his thin, wire frame. The boys face, curled up in his injuries and in disgust, was a patchwork of his dark skin and of the raw red flesh that we are all made up of inside. And his eyes…
I never understood how someone could claime the eyes were the first thing, or the most stricking thing about a person, but now I do. His left eye was a pulped mash of blood, the iris red and seeping. His right was pure blue, but still swiviled in it’s socket, watching me.
The boy lifted his arm, pointing a shaking hand at my chest. And without saying a word, his eyes fell shut and he dropped to the floor.
I rushed to help him up, as any person with any resect for anyone would do, holding his fragile arms up to stop his head from crashing into the concrete.
Like the sea flooding through a recently unblocked dam people raged from the side alleys and from the shop fronts and closed doors. White faces in clean clothes. White faces in clean clothes that didn’t belong here. Men, women and children, but mostly men, crowded around me and the battered black boy. Two grabbed my wrists and arms, tugging me away from the child, who did not seem to be struggling in the slightest. I was pushed and pulled into the crowd, greeted by greedy hands who pulled at my clothes and, when there was little of interest left, my skin, and then, when there was little of that too, they left me, taking the child with them, lying in the middle of the street, waiting for someone else to walk by and try to help.
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