Seven o’clock, the street lights are spotlighting the rain drops relentlessly falling from above. I’m chilled cold, clothes are sopping wet, sight darkens as I rest my head upon glass. It’s evening and I’m tired from being constantly moved on since early morning.
The doorway I rested in is filthy and barely deep enough to keep out the oncoming sidewards rain. A man passing by glances over, he looks at my clothes, then my face, he glares wildly whilst forcing air through his thick lips into his yellow teeth. He pushed a comment “Why don’t you put some trousers on?”; I picked myself up and responded “f*ck off, you put some trousers on”. Enraged he yelled “you don’t tell me to go, this is my yard, if your here when I get back am going to beat you”, dismayed but not moved I spoke firmly “you’re not going to beat anybody” in reply. He then slouched off as I sank back into the darkness of the doorway and huddled up to keep warm.
My eyes started to lower as my mind wondered through passages of memories; as the outside light dimmed the dream projector warmed and lit it’s lens.
Then a sudden crack into my cold nose, I felt paper, a rolled up newspaper being used as a baton, thud thud thud as it rammed into the side of my face. I looked up, he’d returned and was attacking me. He withdrew, threw the paper down then ran fly kicked me in the face; resulting impact broke my nose sidewards. I threw my up my right arm to shield further oncoming blows from his boot but he kicked and kicked relentlessly until my right radius bone cracked splitting my forearm in half.
He paused out of breath, then gaining momentum proceeded to kick me in other places. I shouted “you broke my arm in half”; responding he said “he would do the other arm if I didn’t leave”. I drooped semi- unconscious onto a wet paving slab in front of me. I laid my blooded face in that place for what must have been two or three hours in pouring rain. I motioned passers by with my good arm for help, observing pedestrians smirked and laughed whilst others remarked to each other but did nothing.
An ambulance eventually came, as unfriendly paramedics abruptly loaded me onto a stretcher I glanced over to where I’d been attacked, noticing the building next door was a busy Greek restaurant named “Aphrodite”.
It was a short journey in the ambulance to Saint Mary’s hospital in Paddington. I loaded off the ambulance and left in an A&E corridor for a couple of hours, during this time no pain relief was offered to me.
Another hour passed, I was briefly assessed, the nurse tried to lift up my broken forearm which crunched in her hands. Dismayed she said it was definitely broken and then abruptly went way. Returning five minutes later I wheeled into a cubical where I waited another two hours without any pain relief.
In between this time the CID (plain clothed police) had arrived, a stern male and female officer asked me what had happened. I described to them in detail my account, afterwards they empathised (first humane response I had received that night) and expressed concern stating the assailant was very dangerous, not only because he had attacked me so harshly but because he had threatened and then returned to act on it (premeditated) some time later. The officer said the offence he’d committed was GBH (Grievous Bodily Harm) and that they would be investigating. Before leaving they took my details and left their number before talking with a nurse waiting outside.
A wild eyed male nurse came and pushed me through x-ray then back to the cubical again before disappearing. After half an hour he returned with oxygen and motioned me with the mask to breath lots of deep breaths, then he pulled over his tray and began to plaster my arm. The plaster cast was hurried and appeared bogey and merely minutes after completion I was told to pick up my belongings and leave the hospital. Exiting the A&E a nurse behind remarked “don’t get the plaster wet” I turned and walked through the entrance outside into the relentless pouring rain.
Two months later I contacted Paddington police station and spoke to one of the CID officers, they’d be unable to trace / locate the assailant that had kick broke my arm in half.
My arm was slow to heal and was plastered again more professionally; twice, once at Kingston and another time at the Whittington. Viewing the X-rays one of the nurses seem stressed, she told me they should have plated my arm because it was completely broken (bone pulled apart); later I could hear her in the doctors room.
Seven years later my arm has healed but the recurring flash backs still haunt my early mornings. My forearm that was kick broken in half was the same arm that I used to bless and the align the crown Chakras of thousands of Hindu Shakthi devotees in India; such as the contempt of this benign world.