The mob quickly found their man, there wasn't much hiding space. Blows and kicked landed on his body as the first arrivals began venting their anger on him. He knew it was only a matter of time before his demise. The lone policeman nearby seemed hesitant to involve himself in the melee, but was busy calling the station for reinforcements. He didn't know which one he feared more, imminent death at the hands of the mob or the assault that awaited his kind in the local prison.
The leader of the mob, the victim's uncle, dragged him by his long dishvelled hair onto the market center amid cries from the trading women baying for his blood. Then came the father of the victim with a machete in his right hand and a block of wood in his left. ''Choose your death'', he growled. The perpetrator was too stunned to talk and so the father took the initiative to land a blow from the wood squarely on his temple. He passed out immediately, death could now come, he couldn't feel anything else.
The coldness of the cell and the stench of human waste woke him up rudely from his slumber. The police reinforcement had come just before the father used the weapon in his other hand to finish him off. Now he was in the cell, alone and afraid, no longer assured of anything. He couldn't return to the past and undo his mistake, and oh how we wished he could. He knew he had a problem but had never sought help for it, now his problem had overwhelmed him and the only solution seemed to put himself out of his misery. He took off his tattered and bloodied shirt and quickly made a knot. He tied it against the window grill and wrapped the noose around his neck....
The leader of the mob, the victim's uncle, dragged him by his long dishvelled hair onto the market center amid cries from the trading women baying for his blood. Then came the father of the victim with a machete in his right hand and a block of wood in his left. ''Choose your death'', he growled. The perpetrator was too stunned to talk and so the father took the initiative to land a blow from the wood squarely on his temple. He passed out immediately, death could now come, he couldn't feel anything else.
The coldness of the cell and the stench of human waste woke him up rudely from his slumber. The police reinforcement had come just before the father used the weapon in his other hand to finish him off. Now he was in the cell, alone and afraid, no longer assured of anything. He couldn't return to the past and undo his mistake, and oh how we wished he could. He knew he had a problem but had never sought help for it, now his problem had overwhelmed him and the only solution seemed to put himself out of his misery. He took off his tattered and bloodied shirt and quickly made a knot. He tied it against the window grill and wrapped the noose around his neck....
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