![]() Maybe it’s because I love music so much, maybe I am just strange, but every time I have seen someone get stabbed it’s been the sound more than the visual of the violence that’s really struck me. It was also the sound that was most unsettling, the sound of blade cracking bone, puncturing veins and tearing into flesh. I remember being struck by the stains running down the fridge, the fridge that we used to buy our ginger beer and grape soda from. ![]() It happened so quickly I couldn’t even warn him before the meat cleaver came down on the back of his skull – twice? Three times maybe? What seemed like endless amounts of blood spewed everywhere. ![]() I noticed the other attacker reappear inside the shop he had used the other entrance through the women’s salon to sneak up behind my friend. ![]() My friend retreated from the street into the doorway of the barber shop, just a yard or two from where I was sat. I had not noticed that one of the attackers had disappeared. ![]() My ‘older’ also had his knife on him, which he had now taken out, and was calling his attackers ‘pussyholes’. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |