Michael the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle
With one light-hearted story comes another Snark special: sad tales from the 45th parallel.

Being a teenage pinko meant that I would often lend my babysitting services to those in need. It is impossible to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and find a job if you can’t even afford childcare. I’m not saying that I was brilliant with kids, just that I could prevent them from sticking their tongues in electrical sockets.

Michael and his parents lived around the corner from me in what was essentially the corner of a tumbledown breezeblock construction. There were three people in this studio, and both the parents were ‘recovering’ drug addicts, but without the recovery. It was no place for a young boy. I was told that he lived with his grandmother in rather better circumstances, but ‘something had happened’ and he was a ‘special boy’.

Alarm bells didn’t go off – the unfortunate aspect of my hometown was that so many kids had tragic tales of abuse.

We’d grab Fruit Roll-ups and grilled cheese sandwiches to head down to the riverside to play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Over the course of several months, Michael and I became good friends. I couldn’t get over the fact that he seemed so damaged by life. He told wild tales, one of which stood out in my mind:

He told me that he was sleeping in bed with his grandmother and that his grandmother didn’t have any legs. Then his grandmother’s friend broke into the house and beat her to death while he hid under the covers. The friend was named xxx, he lived at xxx and was wearing xxx.

Assuming this was a boy fantasist, I nodded my head and ignored what he had to say. He also thought he was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, so why was I to believe him?

Eventually the family moved away and I forgot about both Michael and his stories. Watching television one night, a programme came on about local cold cases. There was a case of a woman – a grandmother – who had mobility issues and was beaten to death in bed in front of her grandson, Michael. He was telling the truth.

What made this more tragic was that Michael never said a word about the assailant to the police. According to the programme, the police had absolutely nothing. Michael knew who did it; he told me. He told me and I didn’t listen.

I tried to dig deep into my brain in order to remember even a sliver of information, but came up with nothing. Instead I called the police and told them ‘he knows’.

Having just looked up the details - 19 years after the murder, nobody has been arrested. Michael still hasn’t spoken.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 10:40, 6 replies)

Fucking hell
If this isn't some movie reference that has gone completely over my head, it's one hell of a tale. It's going to take some beating (just like Grandma....)
(Rsoles, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 10:59, closed)

http://www.co.midland.mi.us/coldcases/details.php?cid=4

(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 11:05, closed)

fuuuuck

( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 11:18, closed)

Have a click
This wins for all the wrong reasons.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Wed 3 Nov 2010, 11:14, closed)

Just...
Holy shit.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Wed 3 Nov 2010, 13:15, closed)

fuck, that's just wrong

( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Wed 3 Nov 2010, 17:54, closed)