Each of us made some mistakes in his youth: he injured a loved one, instead of here, he went another way. I, on the other hand, when I was going through a time of rebellion, fell into a bad company, all the way below the ground. They were very rude and feisty young people. Should we blame our parents for that? It's a contentious issue. Nevertheless, during the course of several months, I have witnessed robberies - everyone was piglets. Only once was my participation somewhat active. I was punished for it, I heard: 'Guilty!'
I don't care to bleach my name. I've decided to share that lesson. Once a band, threw a firecracker into the chapel and then sat on a bench with a bottle of vodka. Then a woman with a sick daughter approached us. She asked if we could help her with a collection. Ringleader spat on pavement. He started parodying her daughter: 'Why don't you try the baby out in a circus?'
If we're not ashamed, the wretched woman asked us.
'Or would you like a cunnilingus?' The guru of our gang didn't give up.
The poor woman seemed resigned. 'There used to be young people…' - she threw it at outsiders, hiding a bag for given coins.
I am ashamed of myself when I mention it, and today even more so when I pass this woman. I grabbed the bottle. I threw it in front of me. I remember that view. The bottle cobbles and beats with impetus on the baby's head and stains mother's dress with red blood. It's easy to guess - we've gone where the pepper grows. This action would not end happily for me.
That day, the village leader knocked on the door. If a charlatan hadn't been available, he'd have completely flushed us out. Luckily, the man saved the girl and she was threatened from turning into a plant. However, it was decided that the act would not get away with it. I was brought out in handcuffs. The next day at the firehouse, my trial took place. I knew that I would be punished for this excess, I didn't expect it to be so hard, but the harm I inflicted could have been so great. I was not told what kind of punishment I would receive. I was supposed to come to the square and apologize to the victim.
That's what I did the next day in public. My apology was soon accepted. I thought this was the end of the humiliation. Then I saw the communicative nods. Suddenly, there was a couple of guards behind me. In a fraction of a second, with a few moves, my hands were immobilized. The steel handcuffs of my efforts were up to the task. Soon tears began to squeeze into my eyes. I also felt a soft relaxation in my crotch. I was brought to a wooden pole. My shirt was taken off. Nobody helped me, even though I was seen cringing.
'Initially we planned to spank you with a belt, but now that you're growing up and talking bass, it's better if you get hit with a leather whip. Sixty lashes and that's it. The carpenter will be the executioner. There will be bloodshed from you, which is not a bad thing, cause the child may have been hurt much more.'
The muscleman took a whip before I could speak. I started screaming and kicking desperately. But no one cared about my horror. The carpenter started to crack with a whip, and finally, with great force, he pointed at my back. The pain was unbelievable as soon as it hit. I was quickly out of breath and suffered in silence. You could only listen to the squealing. A loud whistle accompanied every blow. There was no way to handle that kind of pain. The muscles of my hands and legs in spasms were shaking while the ropes were cutting through the skin of my back. The whip was pulling out tissue and muscle fragments and a flock of geese was looking at it from a distance. The mother of a sick daughter looked with satisfaction. The daughter herself, however, surprised with her action: although at the beginning she looked with curiosity, at the end she did not hesitate to defend me with crying. However, the cheering crowd was more important and he did not intend to stop the whipping executioner. My parents approved all of this and cut off a chat with dignitaries. I was blessed by a priest with a group of altar boys. A drunken crowd chanted one of shanties. I felt like a slave on a white people ship, who screwed up working on some equipment. Finally, when I was almost unconscious, a chemist rescued me with vinegar. He's restored my dignity.
Through fog, I saw a cleaning lady with a mop ready. The woman was rubbing blood on the pavement. In a flow of fantasy, I saw her being flogged. Everything was long over, I was home. Did I owe anything to who? I was put on a porch on a sheet. My legs and hands were tied and wounds were washed carefully with tincture. I shouted loud and loud, even though I had nature as a shrimp. Instead of sixty lashes, I got, like, one hundred and twenty, because I had almost led to disaster. For a month I suffered and lay on my stomach. I got bedsores from stillness. I didn't think it would end so badly. My brother and father kept me on their shift. My entire body felt that heavy beating. Every move was associated with piercing pain. I might not have listened to my friends. I was a miserable coward. Company never visited me once. Eventually, they all went to jail. Heavy flogging saved me from prison. I have had thick scars for the rest of my life, and if I tried to count them, I would lose count.