Nonce

an-angry-mob

“Look at that dirty freak, look at that dirty fucking nonce scum-bag!” I yelled out, pointing at random to some guy in the crowd, hoping in this way to distract attention away from myself, “He’s the one!” Faces turned to look where I was pointing. The crowd was in a bad mood – quick to judge, quick to blame, quick to seek retribution. “Yeah, he’s the one!” someone else called out, obviously someone like me with something to hide themselves and keen to jump on the bandwagon. Things were starting to turn very ugly now. The threat of violence hung in the air like an over-ripe fruit. A big mean-looking man standing right next me suddenly roared out “Let’s get the fucker!” and charged forward like a bull and I knew I had swung it. The heat was on someone else. Some poor guy was going to cop it now. I say ‘poor guy’ but oddly enough I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. The only thing I felt – if I was to be honest – was a tremendous sense of relief that it wasn’t me who was going to catch it. To tell the truth, I was actually starting to feel angry with the guy myself, strange as this may seem! I was starting to feel that he had done something bad, and I wanted to get him back for it. I wanted to punish him. Make him pay. I could feel the righteous rage running through me, the urge to seek retribution. My face felt hot, I was starting to lose the head. “I want to kill the dirty pervy bastard!” I shrieked out at the top of my voice like a total maniac psycho head-case, and pushed myself belligerently forward through the throng, keen to get my chance to put the boot in. Boy was I ever going to give him a kicking!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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