Blood isn’t as red as, say, the colour red is. It’s deeper. Darker. Thicker. Like a stickier version of wine. The wine that Mum and Dad like to drink. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the blood. How it flowed from the nose and trickled out of the ear like hot gummy lava. I didn’t know that eyes could bleed. Of course I knew about the nose and mouth, but not the eyes. It looked like The Big Man was actually crying blood. And I watched that blood stream, gush, flood and spurt from every possible opening. I was mesmerised by this torrent, this river of red. It hypnotised me.
I wasn’t aware of where the bullet had hit. After hearing the loud bang, all I saw was The Big Man falling. Everything happened in slow motion. The thud when he rattled the ground was long and dull. He bounced once or twice before rolling on to his back. Momentum taking him there.
I stood over him. I remember feeling calm and, I hate to say it, relief also. As if a tiny bullet had lifted a ton weight from my shoulders. And it had. I was no longer a killer, a murderer, nor a criminal. I was no Rascal. I was Charlie Law, schoolboy. I was Charlie Law, witness to a death in a war zone.
I heard The Big Man exhale his final breath on earth. Saw his eyes take their final flicker. The blood seeping from the wounded area formed a type of halo at the back of his head. I might’ve smiled at this, who knows?
My arm hung down by my side, still clutching the gun. When I realised this, and all that had befallen me, shock set in. Severe shock. My body caved to the intensity of the moment. My shaking was uncontrollable, my lungs ached with the rapid intakes of air I was trying to pour into them and my brain trembled at the realisation that I might be next. Next to get a bullet in the back of the head. I opened my mouth and howled. Not like a wolf, but like an abandoned child. I couldn’t move my legs. I suppose real terror does that: it renders you immobile. That’s what I was. A statue. Just waiting for a bullet that would force me to join The Big Man. I closed my eyes. Waited.
‘Drop gun!’ a voice bellowed. An Old Country voice.
I opened my hand. The gun fell.
And I waited.
‘You can move now, boy,’ the voice said. I remained in my position. ‘You can move now.’ I was stuck.
‘It OK, you safe.’ The voice had his hand on my shoulder. ‘You safe with us now, boy.’
And when I opened my eyes, safe was exactly what I felt.