The boy died alone. In a crowd. But alone.
Probably more accurate to call him a man, but really he had the last
vestiges of youth. And a roll of hundreds attached to his belt.
The crowd howled. They wanted to see help. They wanted to see life.
They didn't bargain for death on a night out.
Neither did he.
Were his last thoughts of regret?
Or was he lonely?
Did he know what was happening?
Did he hear the flapping of wings...see grey mist...a bright white light?
Did he hear the crowd growing angry to see him lying in the puddle of blood
while the police kept them at bay?
Did he feel anger at their ineffectual protest?
Or was he so beyond caring about all of that?
And what of the police who were so jaded that it was
beyond any one of them to sit and hold his hand for the last few minutes he had left.
What of them.