What I witnessed yesterday was crazy, and a strong indication that normal societal standards are out the window. The lines between right and wrong have changed. That’s all I can tell myself at least. Otherwise how can I live with what happened today. Please don’t judge me. It’s hard enough for me to handle and make sense of.

As I said before, I decided to visit my neighbour. I took some of the drinks from the vending machine in a plastic bag for him, as well as my crowbar. I went down the stairs of my mostly unoccupied apartment building, and walked across to his house. After knocking on his door and waiting for a few minutes I gave up waiting, and turned to leave when I saw him about twenty metres away sprinting towards me. There was blood all around his mouth, soaking his shirt and all over his hands. I didn’t know if it was his or someone else’s. I called out to him, and but he just screamed and continued to run towards me. He seemed completely different to the broken man I’d seen cremating his mother.

I backed away from the door in the opposite direction, and called out for him to stop.  There was something about the manic expression on his face that, as cliche as it sounds, made my blood freeze. My feet stopped moving and my hands clenched around the crowbar. He was drawing closer and closer, and I could see the aggression in the tightening of his face and narrowing of his eyes.

“Please, stop! Please!”

I didn’t know what to do. What else could I do? I raised the crowbar like a baseball player. Just before he reached me his hands came up, as if to grab me. When he was about a metre from me, I swung the crowbar. The end of it hit him square across the jaw, and I heard a crack as the bone snapped. The impact knocked the man to his knees, and blood filled his mouth.

I started backing away further, and he looked up at me with rabid eyes, but no sign the hit had registered. I started to lift the crowbar above my head, but as I was doing so he lunged forward, grabbing the bottom and pushing hard. The power the push surprised me and it smashed back into my forehead. I managed to stay on my feet though, and we were both holding the tool upright between us.

I tried to twist it to the side, but his grip remained firm. Making a noise that I can only describe as a snarl, he charged forward again. I ducked to the right and managed to pulled the crowbar down to the left causing him to lose his balance a little. As we swung around, I put my leg out and tripped him over face forward.

It was fight or flight, and maybe I made the wrong choice, but I released the crowbar and jumped on his back, pinning him to the ground. There was blood everywhere. I reached out for the plastic bag of cans with one hand, while the other was pushing all my weight down onto the back of his neck. The man tried to turn over beneath me, and I could feel he wasn’t going to stay down long.

With the plastic bag of cans in hand, I released his neck, leaned back on his tailbone and swung the cans into the side of his head. I don’t know how many times I hit him, but eventually the fight started to go out of him and the tension in his body ceased.

I sat there for a while in the silence of the small rural road, just watching the puddle of blood blossoming beneath his head. I don’t know how long I sat there, but when I noticed the light starting to fade, I slowly get to my feet, picked up my crowbar and went back to my apartment.

I spent a long time in the shower hoping the cold water would wash everything away.  My head hurts from where the crowbar hit me and I have a bump that looks like an egg as a result. It could have been a lot worse though. Mum, I know you’re reading this. I really, really want to come home…


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