When there is an itch, scratch it. That is the driving force behind two blog posts in as many days; that and the fact that I have a few days off work. Yesterday’s blog was a departure from the usual drivel I try to limit myself to and nigh incomprehensible as one Anonymous so charmingly pointed out. So allow me to go back to the usual in this post.
Two weeks ago my mother asked me to look in on two boys who had been admitted at the hospital I work. When I got to the ward both boys (17 and 19) were being guarded by the police. One had a huge gash on his face and said he had been in a car crash. The other had several gunshot wounds. Seeing as my mother is rarely in the company of criminals I assumed the kids were the victims, hence the police guard. They are the sons of a friend of my mom's.
It is only recently that I got the full story. The boys, in the company of a parolee had been part of a hijacking gone horribly wrong. They had ambushed a man in a parking lot and the 19-year-old had shot him. While the man was writhing on the ground, the 16-year-old had driven over him, leaving him dead on the tarmac. The parolee, a man who is in his 40s, scuppered leaving the boys to fend for themselves. They were caught by the police in about 30 minutes and the resultant shootout had seen the 16-year-old lose control of the car and the 19-year-old shot by police.
I had gone out of my way to be pleasant to people who had done something so despicable. I had touched their shoulders reassuringly and promised them they were being taken care of. I had looked into the eyes of two criminals and treated them with common courtesy and decency. I hadn’t seen what they were.
I’m fucking pissed with myself.