Last Weekend's Realities
On Friday night, Pete – fifty, unemployed, a heavy drinker – offed himself at home.
When he didn’t bring her lunch next day,
his deaf and bedridden mother pulled herself from her room
and found him lying in a crusty ocean of blood. The flies had already been busy.
Two Sri Lankan girls came to scrub the terrazzo. When they finished, they threw away their clothes.
On Saturday morning, Danny – thirteen, a schoolboy with an awesome smile – hit a steel crash barrier from the back of his best mate’s bike.
When his friend’s mother closed Danny’s eyes in hospital, just before his parents came, she said that there was not a mark on him. "Just like he was sleeping!"
On Sunday his classmates gathered at the harbour – crying, because he couldn’t anymore; laughing, because he never would again.
“I’ve actually done my homework this time!” He had texted his English class seatmate
a hour before the last ride. But
“He’ll never turn it in now,” she said.
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