the creature formerly known as glis (gliserine) wrote,
the creature formerly known as glis

  • Mood:


Last night, sometime between 7 and 4 in the morning, a person was killed a few houses up my road. I had two policemen knocking on my door, they sat with me in the messiest front room ever and filled in a bizarre questionnaire covering mostly details of my appearance. They have been interviewing everybody on the street like this, even though they already have a suspect in custody, they said, and they'll come back tomorrow to talk to G too.

While I sat there on my bean bag describing the length of my hair, I got gradually petrified at the idea of murder. Who was the victim? What sort of person is the murderer? How did they do it? And more importantly, why? How chilling, to think that while G&I were tucked away in our basement, plugged onto our computers, a few doors away somebody would get about such a business. The officers have just gone now, after reassuring me that the questions were mostly to exclude me, and repeating that the suspect is already caught. It starting to get dark and I feel somewhat numb - how do you kill someone? and how scare to get yourself killed.

By association, I was reminded of that other encounter I have had with policemen calling at my home. How different a situation, how grim in both cases. The morning officers, a slender young man and a woman, were just sent out to check on my neighbour, but got their addresses mixed up - or I got them mixed up instead. The guy was probably instructed to break the door down or somehow check the contents of the flat, he considered tiptoeing across the building's border to take a peek inside, but decided it was just too risky at six floors above the ground. Having mixed the flats up, I lulled their inquiries to the point of them leaving. Then when the night fell, a whole team of them came back up again, broke the glass part of the door and into our neighbour's flat. The coroner arrived later, I could see his car parked at the curb and it didn't look like a service vehicle. It took them hours, and when they were done at last, they struggled and strained to curry our neighbour's overweight dead body down the stairs, wrapped in what looked no different to black plastic bin bags. They left the shuttered door open to view. A life gone like that, and nobody noticed, apart from the relative that notified the police about his disappearance.

How different these two stocky blokes doing mere paperwork seemed today. How grave, how heavy, how alarming in reminding me what type of action urban life can include.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded