The full moon peered down through the slanted window in the roof of the council house. A boy was typing a letter on an old typewriter.

He looked up at the moon, after a few seconds he turned back to the machine and carried on typing. He then turned the wheel on the right to roll out the paper, read it through once more, signed it, folded it carefully in half, put it in an envelope and slipped it in the left inside pocket of his jacket which was hanging on the bedroom door.

The door opened, his Mum came in.
„You little shit, typing so loud and waking us up, don’t you know it’s eleven o’clock, we’ve been in bed for an hour, now just you turn off that bloody light and get to bed!“ she said.
She closed the door. He took off his clothes and got into bed and lay gazing up at the moon through the window.

The letter’s finished and tomorrow is my fourteenth birthday, he thought.
„Goodnight moon, sleep well.“

It was seven in the morning – a damp, chilly November morning – the clouds had drawn over during the night and it was drizzling. Morris was wearing his grey jacket, a blue shirt, a grey jumper with a small hole in the left sleeve, a pair of dirty black shoes which were two sizes too big, and a pair of green (he-who-wears- blue-and-green-is-definitely-a-poofter-queen) trousers – his school uniform.

The girl in the red skirt saw Morris standing at the stop opposite her on the corner of Park Road and Monkton Street.
„Hello, where you going so early?“ she shouted across the street.

I didn’t know her, but maybe it was one of the girls from school, never paid much attention to them, I thought I had better say something though.
“Just up early, like you I suppose“ I said.

She looked back at me, wondering it seemed, maybe thinking she had misplaced me. The number seventeen bus came round the corner and saved me from answering any of her questions, I put out my hand to stop it. It was one of these green double deckers. I caught Miss Scarlet’s eye for an instance, she was at the front of the top deck looking down. John was driving, he was well known in the area for his work at the youth club. I never went to the youth club of course, but someone said something about it at school once.

„Be seeing you later then,“ the girl shouted from across the road.

I got in.
„Where you off to?“ John asked.
„To the slaughterhouse please,“ I said.

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