The Kid With the Squint

He was the kid with the squint who we heckled all day, at school, in the class, then again at play. We would call him Cyclopes, hold up fingers, ‘how many?’ He had a miserable time and his name was Keith Spenny. I can’t say I am proud, the fact is I'm not, there are memories lodged, I wish I had forgot. He never complained, he took all the skit, never argued back, no never, one bit! That was back in the day, forty years have now past, school days long gone, I’d moved on at last. A wife and two kids, three grand kids and all, who were all shopping, that fateful day, at the mall. The gunman appeared, shooting crazy at folk, shot a woman, two kids and an elderly bloke. He stood there and laughed, pointing the gun straight at me, and my grandchildren too, nowhere could we flee. He took aim and the grand kids held on for dear life, as did my hysterical, petrified wife, when a man launched himself, blocking his sight, and took the full force of the gunman’s might. We all fled as the cops finished off the task, that the brave man has started; but who we should ask? ‘‘twas the squint in his eye, when they turned him around, as I sobbed in my heart, for lay Keith on the ground.