Make of life what you will. There has to be a reason behind all the cases of young people stabbing and murdering other people with home-made weapons.

oOo

He’s family.

My son. Michael, the second eldest.

Their mother left him, his elder sister and the youngest boy when they were still toddlers. I did my best, I know I did. Michael wasn’t much of a handful. He got on well at school. We lived out in the country back then, when we still had the land. Sure, there were one or two furs in his classroom, but he never mentioned them much. They were bigger than he was, better at sports, but you’d expect that. Even the young ones have powerful bodies. More animal than people, furs. They got all the advantages.

My work gave us a reasonable lifestyle. I was able to feed and clothe the kids and buy them all they wanted. Farming got harder over the years, and maybe I didn’t watch over them as best I should, but my eldest was a grand girl, like a mother to the boys. Time came when I had to sell up and move into town. The lads missed the countryside and the fresh air. Michael grew a bit distant.

Their new school was seething with furs. There were more of them than proper people, I mean ones like me, born here. Furs got the best of everything — fine houses from the council, welfare from Social Services, doctors to look after them. The grown-ups lorded it up, looking down on the rest of us. Their children were worse. Poor Michael returned from school battered and bloodied several times. He never admitted what happened, but I knew. Damn furs. They can’t leave the animal in them outside the gates.

My lads grew up fast.

It all went wrong last Christmas. Michael got arrested. A couple of furs taunted and pushed him around. He defended himself against those animals. The police claimed he stabbed the one that died with a sharpened screwdriver. I knew he was only defending himself. My son doesn’t have claws or fangs. He has to be able to defend himself. They smeared our good name in the press.

I travel to the prison every Saturday by bus. It’s hard on me, but he’s family.

My son.

Michael, the second eldest.

oOo