The Intersection

THE COWARD

Though it was night we were bathed in a harsh light. It seemed to come from all around, holding back the dark and showing us the way.
The demon was in my blood that night, I called to him, urging him on, goading, insulting. Saying whatever was necessary to anger him. I did not know him, did not want to know him. Wanting him to fight, needing to fight, wanting to feel blows against flesh and the rush of it all. He raised his hands and turned away, I called him coward. He was a braver man than I. I walked to his back and punched him down. Barely hearing the sickening wet sound of skull on concrete. I stood over him the adrenaline ebbing, looking down at him daring him to rise, to join me in the contest. Pulled away I celebrated in the joy of it all. I swaggered with pride and pumped fists. I yelled “coward” again where they had rolled him over and saw his eyes, open, staring. Ice fell then and I could not draw enough breath. His breath was gone but his eyes open wide. There should have been more blood! A mans life deserves more blood than just an ears trickle.
In the moment of the blow I had wanted to kill him, but I had never meant for him to die.

THE VICTIM
He looks at me smirking and then looks away. I can’t believe he can do this. He has done so much and now he smirks at the mother of the son who he has taken. He who has cried and said that it was an accident, he did not mean it, he never meant for my son to die. He is only sorry for himself, remorseful for his actions and where they have brought him. No remorse for what he has done. He has taken a man before his time. I have sat and heard it all, how he struck him down from behind and called him coward. How he danced over the dead and raised his hands in exultation. He took joy in the moment and now cries about accidents. My fury is white, I would dance over his body, I would pump fists but I can do nothing but weep hot white tears. Even the howls of fury are strangled by my throats grief.

THE SCARED
His mother sits there, crying, she never stops. Never a sound, just endless tears. I look at her and try to tell her with my eyes how sorry I am. I did not want to kill her son. It was all an accident, I wanted blood but never wanted death. I try to smile at her to lift a little her grief but I cannot meet her eyes and look away. This cant be happening to me, I can’t be held responsible, I didn’t mean for this to happen.

The Intersection

Boadicea

Brisbane, Australia

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Artist's Description

In Queensland recently violent thugs who have killed innocent people have been allowed to walk free without sanction. They have claimed that the death was an accident and that they cannot be held responsible. Young men go out to end the night with fights and other young men die.

Artwork Comments

  • Damian
  • Alyssa Medina
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