So I'm out walking about and the area's looking spectacularly stunning beneath the downright bizarre glow of the surprisingly hot summer sun, simultaneously admiring and telling my friend of changes that I've witnessed over time. From the reinvigorated canal where once only cancerous fish dwelled to the new housing and libraries that stand proudly where once only derelict wastelands and abandoned warehouses were occupying; even the dragonflies had returned en masse.
I gave particular mention to my friend of the local wildlife, observing with a sad look the filthy black German ducks [I am told they are German, though I can't remember who by] who have a penchance for aggression that has allowed them to force the native ducks away, the ones with the beautiful plumage and more timid mannerisms [even as I spoke of this to my friend, one of the mother black ducks was attacking both of her children, leaving one bloody in the neck behind the soaked remnants of fluffy plumage, obscured by raw red flesh].
We walked along from the London black duck massacre through the tunnel upon which I heard a duck's quack echo, as I spoke to him of the ugly bullrushes and reeds that had over the decade blossomed into uncontrolled beauty spilling out from their confines alongside the entrenched lily pads with their white budded petals; continuing on our walk to the supermarket.
That's when I saw it, something I'd never seen before. My friend pointed out to me there was a turtle on one of the wooden planks normally reserved for squatting ducks. Actually a terrapin, but nonetheless all of a sudden we stopped and began loudly exclaiming that there was a turtle there.
A group of a dozen people begin talking with us, identifying it was a terrapin and speculating that someone must have recently lost a pet terrapin, and that we had not seen such a thing in this country and this county ever before. A black German duck also began attacking it, but gave up after it realized the terrapin's shell was too strong and it couldn't be bothered to swim after the fleeing terrapin [which returned to its spot the moment the German duck fled].
We moved on, talking about whether the terrapin could eat some endangered fish no one has heard about or if it would survive the winter if no one rescued it. Picked up some food and tidbits from the bustling shopping centre, reminiscing the sheer scale of developments both large and small. Noted that the supermarket now sported a higher density of CCTV than the outside streets by far, they neither trusted the cashiers nor the customers. They must have had a security deal with some company to afford that many cameras. One wonders if it really is more cost effective than simply hiring more cashiers.
Pick up the local newspaper; get shocked and surprised when I find out no one has been stabbed at all in the whole month or the last month, the neighbourhood is either getting better or too preoccupied with mourning over the world cup to go outside and get into fights. On leaving, we decide to go back the longer route down the canal because it looks so nice, when we see something that stops us in our tracks.
We're just looking at five screeching children ahead, they didn't stop us though, it was the terrapin. We slowed down and diverted our attention to the terrapin again, seeing if it was all right and wondering on all the ways it could have gotten there. Probably came here with one of the Chinese families and escaped, I know terrapins are in plentiful supply in Malaysia and China.
We begin walking off when I notice the children begin pestering the poor terrapin. One of them grabs a branch and starts trying to poke the terrapin. My friend and I, we watch in amusement hoping the child falls in for daring to disturb a defenceless creature so. We begin walking away; one of them says 'I found a brick.'
Fuck no you little shit, you pried it from the street. That brick has been there since before you existed you fucking prat, it has more right to stand beneath the sun than you.
'I'm going to throw it into the canal.' No you're fucking not, you can't even lift up that wizened stone without your two bloody hands. Our attention is entirely on the little fucks. I motion to my friend, telling him I won't let them do it. He agrees.
That one does not throw the brick into the canal, he is too clever for that. The other one picks it up. He puts it down after fiddling around with it, miming an arc into the canal. They repeat this process. By the time we reach the fifth child my friend is pulling me away, reassuring me that they're not as wicked as they seem.
The children catch onto us stopping in our tracks and staring at them whenever they talk loudly of throwing the brick. They catch onto our conversation regarding them. They flee off, yelping and bellowing as they are want to do. One of them brings a bigger brother who is still smaller than both of us. They part ways, letting us through. We see the brick on the floor, unthrown into the canal. They fuck off to the central residential areas.
Fucking shits.
It all played out like before, a scene that is legendary amongst my area's lore. I remember now that birdwatcher man who charged into the student yobbo fuckwits; he tore down the periphery of the lake with incredible speed, he had to be fast. It had happened before, and now he saw a new generation doing it again.
They were throwing bricks at nesting Swans and he routed the rabble alone. This generation of swans would not feel the pains of their parents as their children were brained and smothered. I remember looking upon the lake one day expecting to see that same old pair of swans who faithfully returned here with their adolescents and their hatchlings, their favourite nesting ground always occupied by the chirping of fluffy cygnets; I remember seeing the nest empty but for broken shells. I remember that lake being without Swans for half a decade.
Never again. Birdwatcher man was right.
I felt that echo of righteous rage; what it is to truly belong to the rage thread of thought. What it is to defend the defenceless in the face of such wanton violence.
To make matters worse I later saw one prat demanding that he was going to take the Terrapin and put it into his terrarium. He spoke straight to his father's face 'I know I always get what I want and you can't stop me,' as he floundered about embarrassingly trying to coax the terrapin into his glass voyeur's prison.
Fucking shit.
He did not get the terrapin.
I THREW ROCKS AT WASPS: THAT IS MY BIGGEST SIN AGAINST NATURE AND THAT WAS AT LEAST PARTLY JUSTIFIED AS RETALIATION AGAINST ALREADY DOOMED DEMONS
SOMEONE SHOULD THROW BRICKS OF JUSTICE AT THE SHITS, FUCK IT AND BRING ON THE FUNDAMENTALIST LAW
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Topic: Things that made you RRRRRRAAAAGGGGEEEE today: Trust-o-nomics Edition (Read 3752024 times)