I didn’t even know the man who did this to me.
It was a warm evening in May 2016 and I was on my way home.
I decided to pop into the Cyns Tavern in Little Hulton to see my friend Jayne.
I don’t drink, but I just wanted a quick catch-up.
But when I got to the pub, there was a man standing in the door.
I knew his name, as he was a regular – Dale Powell.
We’d never spoken to each other, though.
‘Excuse me,’ I said politely. Instead of moving out of my way, he stayed put and glared at me.
Weird...
Then, before I had the chance to utter another word, the man’s fist was being launched at my face.
I staggered backwards as his knuckles collided with my cheek.
As I reeled in pain, another sickening punch landed on my face.
He struck me five times before I hit the floor.
Crumpled in a heap, I faded in and out of consciousness as voices circled around me.
‘Look what you’ve done!’someone shouted.
When I finally came to, a stranger was standing over me.
Blurry-eyed and confused, I noticed he was wearing a bright red shirt.
Then I realised the man’s shirt was red because it was drenched in my blood.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة January 12 2017 من Chat.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة January 12 2017 من Chat.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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