Murder
I was going to conjure up a nicely-written piece about what I witnessed; put it in context of the ongoing conflict in Northern Ireland, use lots of interesting big words to make you squirm while shielding the real horror, then round it off with a pithy joke about sex.

But I'm not going to do that.

I went to the local bonfire with my friends seven years ago, when I was only a young lad. I ate burnt burgers, drank small amounts of cheap champagne and sang songs. It was late and the fire was dying down when I saw two men leading another seemingly drunk man away from the circle of light and people.

I saw them throw him to the ground, repeatedly kick him in the head (a wet thumping sound) and ribs (a dull thwack), before producing a pistol and shooting him twice in the head. The gunshots were shockingly, crashingly loud - they sliced through the miasma of revelry. The two men walked away calmly. I ran.

I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. Did I really see someone's life being snuffed out, just like that? I had nightmares about the killing for years afterward; it affected me quite deeply and was a significant contributor to my hatred of this backwater little shithole of a province.

I later spent a few months inside the daughter of the chap who, it turns out, ordered this 'execution'. I think my mistreatment of her was a reaction to what he had done. Sorry Rachael.

Seven years is quite long enough, I think.

news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/831717.stm
(SurferRosa causing the lamentation of the womenfolk since, Sat 23 Jun 2007, 14:07, Reply)