One reason why there are not enough witnesses.
One of those big spinney kicks I think people call them round house. I came back just as my foot is about to connect. I'm in my 'normal' Scotland clothes; jeans, a Tshirts and the boots that I wore to school. The men in suits and rich clothes siting around the edges of the room are laughing. They know I have come round. They know I was aware, that I had seen what I had just done. The kid was already injured, bloodied. I don't know if it was me that did that. I have the echo of one of their instructive voices in my head but I don't what he said. The knowledge came like it was supposed to, input processed, assessment reached; fractured skull, broken neck. This four year cute blond boy wasn't going to scream in agony or have his hopes purposely raised to be destroyed again. He was nobodies' toy now.
It was his face that helped a lot to keep me floored during the months and years after. I just couldn't get passed it. He wasn't scared. Like he was glad to be with me even though I was about to kill him. A look of respect almost like he was surprised I had it in me. It might of been a kid I used to call Henry. Some said they were glad it was me who was going to kill them. Some said they rather that than anyone else, some really seemed to believe they were privileged because I was 'special'. One or two more were a bit more down to earth about it all said it didn't make any difference and they didn't care.
It came back again after watching the North Wales stuff on the news. Another big old oppressive building that I cant look at for very long. I think a group of us were sent there as enforcers during the mid 90's. To give the inmates a scare so they wouldn't talk. I beat them but others went further.
Thinking about it today. Its his eyes I'm desperate to see but can't. Where they dark? Like mine, like wee man's, like Petey's. Was he mine? I was definitely around my mid teens when it happened so its possible.
Have I told you this before?
It was his face that helped a lot to keep me floored during the months and years after. I just couldn't get passed it. He wasn't scared. Like he was glad to be with me even though I was about to kill him. A look of respect almost like he was surprised I had it in me. It might of been a kid I used to call Henry. Some said they were glad it was me who was going to kill them. Some said they rather that than anyone else, some really seemed to believe they were privileged because I was 'special'. One or two more were a bit more down to earth about it all said it didn't make any difference and they didn't care.
It came back again after watching the North Wales stuff on the news. Another big old oppressive building that I cant look at for very long. I think a group of us were sent there as enforcers during the mid 90's. To give the inmates a scare so they wouldn't talk. I beat them but others went further.
Thinking about it today. Its his eyes I'm desperate to see but can't. Where they dark? Like mine, like wee man's, like Petey's. Was he mine? I was definitely around my mid teens when it happened so its possible.
Have I told you this before?
