It was just me and a few others, well, still just me, walking on the road when this happened. One of those moments you really don't know what to do...
It was a sunny afternoon. It was around 3 O'clock and the sunlight was piercing through the skin, blistering every blood vessel possible. I turned around the corner and that's when I saw it happen. A man got thrown onto the road, pushed with all ferocity. He was dark, short and formally dressed. Then the person who pushed him came into sight. He was a tall and fairer in complexion. He was not as formally dressed as the other person. Then, the less formal guy grabbed the formal guy by his collar and began to throw him around. The formal guy kept shouting something, with an expression of apology and regret and fear. The informal guy did not stop. With every step towards Mr. Formal, Mr. Informal kept getting more aggressive. He picked him up and began to drag him. He slapped him and beat him. By now, Mr. Formal was crying, with pain, with helplessness, with fear, with the lost faith; just crying. He was still trying to get away, though. The next I saw him, Mr. Informal arms himself with a flat, think stick. Mr. Formal is being dragged, half of his body dragging itself after the torso being pulled. Mr. Informal generously helped Mr. Formal stand up and whacked his thigh with the stick. The stick broke at the whack. I wonder how painful that could've been. Mr. Formal screamed. He screamed out of pain and remorse, as loudly as he could. He screamed. Mr. Informal finally left him and Mr. Formal ran. He ran like his life got a fifteen minute headstart. He ran without looking back, shouting something in a language I could not understand. It was all over a kilogram of marijuana. Mr. Formal, here, apparently, tried to steal it. Mr. Informal got pissed. He beat him up. It all happened 2 metres away from where I stood. I could've tried to stop them, I could've stopped his thigh getting whacked. Except, for some reason of fear or doubt, I did not.
I just found it hard to believe that Mr. Formal wanted to steal the weed and I found it hard to decide as to who could be right, if Mr. Formal did intend to steal it.
It just turned out to be one of those events during which I stand doing nothing and regret later that I stood there and did nothing...
It was a sunny afternoon. It was around 3 O'clock and the sunlight was piercing through the skin, blistering every blood vessel possible. I turned around the corner and that's when I saw it happen. A man got thrown onto the road, pushed with all ferocity. He was dark, short and formally dressed. Then the person who pushed him came into sight. He was a tall and fairer in complexion. He was not as formally dressed as the other person. Then, the less formal guy grabbed the formal guy by his collar and began to throw him around. The formal guy kept shouting something, with an expression of apology and regret and fear. The informal guy did not stop. With every step towards Mr. Formal, Mr. Informal kept getting more aggressive. He picked him up and began to drag him. He slapped him and beat him. By now, Mr. Formal was crying, with pain, with helplessness, with fear, with the lost faith; just crying. He was still trying to get away, though. The next I saw him, Mr. Informal arms himself with a flat, think stick. Mr. Formal is being dragged, half of his body dragging itself after the torso being pulled. Mr. Informal generously helped Mr. Formal stand up and whacked his thigh with the stick. The stick broke at the whack. I wonder how painful that could've been. Mr. Formal screamed. He screamed out of pain and remorse, as loudly as he could. He screamed. Mr. Informal finally left him and Mr. Formal ran. He ran like his life got a fifteen minute headstart. He ran without looking back, shouting something in a language I could not understand. It was all over a kilogram of marijuana. Mr. Formal, here, apparently, tried to steal it. Mr. Informal got pissed. He beat him up. It all happened 2 metres away from where I stood. I could've tried to stop them, I could've stopped his thigh getting whacked. Except, for some reason of fear or doubt, I did not.
I just found it hard to believe that Mr. Formal wanted to steal the weed and I found it hard to decide as to who could be right, if Mr. Formal did intend to steal it.
It just turned out to be one of those events during which I stand doing nothing and regret later that I stood there and did nothing...
No comments:
Post a Comment