Kid.
No funnies, no apology. Just plain sad.

Many moons ago when piglet was still being incubated, me and my six months pregnant wife were walking through the town centre when we came across a filthy young man sitting on a blanket. He had his hands out and his head lowered, lifting it only occasionally to direct a beseeching glare on a passer-by. As I looked into his eyes I caught this attention and he looked at me. Then through me. I suddenly understood what a thousand-yard stare looked like. Looking straight at him I opened my wallet and give him my last fiver and walked away.
Curious as to the reason behind my strange burst of generosity (I am known as careful by my Scottish friends) my wife asked why I had done it. So I told her his story.

Long ago in what feels like a different life I used to be a playscheme leader in some pretty rough areas. Attending one of these was a young lad of about 12 who was always fighting. Always. The other kids would wind him up just to see him fight. And he never backed down once, not ever, even in the face of some barely sentient knuckle-dragger who would pound him senseless. But this ginger haired freckly kid had one shining light: His Sister. She was a few years older than him and looked after him and the other kids in his family, he worshipped her as the mother he didn’t really have. He wasn’t the brightest diode on the circuit board but he was capable of following instructions and as stated before, an unyielding fighter. So as soon as he was able he joined the Army.

At this point I have no idea what happened but he went off the rails. His reaction to initial training was that everyone was bullying him, being ginger\freckly probably marked him out and knowing the way he reacted to physical pressure I can only presume he continued to react with his usual flair. Strangely he made it through training and came out as an infantryman. He lasted another two years before being discharged on medical (mental) grounds. He wasn’t very good on his own so his sister took him in and helped him look after himself. He became involved in petty crime but was cunning enough to keep himself out of bother. Then his sister met her husband.

After a whirlwind romance she became pregnant with the first of her three kids and they were married. Kid never got on with his brother-in-law. He never trusted him and would often end up leaving the house before he did violence on the prick (for prick he was, I knew the lad at school and he was a cunt of the highest order). Unfortunately during one of these periods Prick decide that he wanted to be re-housed by the council and firebombed his own home. With his wife and kids inside. They burned to death and he was sent to jail.

When Kid returned he was inconsolable and wandered the streets howling his grief like a madman. He had lost the only good thing he had ever had in his young life (he was still only 23 at this point). He was interned for treatment at a local mental hospital but it didn’t take and he eventually walked out one day and disappeared. Until I saw him on his blanket. I knew I couldn’t help him in any real sense, no-one could. So I gave him some money and hoped he would spend it on something that would help him forget for a while., he always knew how and where to get fed. I’ve never seen him again (cliché? Maybe) but hope he’s found peace, I doubt it’s in this world though.

Peace to you Kid, wherever you are.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Mon 6 Jul 2009, 23:41, 4 replies)

Don't want to click I like this
And I can't think of anything to say. You get the click though.
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 0:56, closed)

Jesus fuck.
That's horrible; I'm actually crying for the first time this QOTW. I hope somewhere he's found peace.
( Maladicta, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 1:30, closed)

*click*
Posts like this are why I read b3ta.
(WillI'mNot logs in twice a year, every year, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 12:32, closed)

^
this
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 14:43, closed)