Inside the room people were chattering away to each other in small groups. A few people were not in such a talkative mood, and were sitting around the place with glasses, mostly half full, in front of them staring away into the distance beyond the wall and beyond the pub. Three such people were sitting at the bar, each cradling a drink and looking very carefully at the wood of which the bar had been made, tracing the knot-holes and grain with the dregs of spilt beer. They were so engrossed in their task that they didn’t notice that they were doing the same thing, or that it might have looked comical to anyone else who was watching. There was only one person watching, and that was the barman who filled their drinks up whenever they seemed do be getting empty. Nothing seemed to be about to happen, and this could have gone on for a long time had someone not put a coin in the jukebox. The noise which issued in place of music seemed to strike a chord in all three people, like an ultrasonic whistle to a dog. They looked up and in doing so saw each other. One man scowled at the speaker, showing his distaste to the woman seated near him. She smiled grimly and sneered at the person who had put the music on. The other man beckoned the landlord over and almost shouted in his ear.

‘What is this shit? Switch it off!’

The landlord shrugged his shoulders and scooped his cloth around the inside of a glass. He wasn’t going to do anything about it.

‘What, pray tell, is wrong with you?’ said the man seated furthest away, casting a distasteful look along the bar.

‘Been shitted on by life, mate. Why, what’s it to you?’

‘You’re not the only one,’ growled the man, deliberately pushing his glass hard over the wood to the barman, getting a refill.

‘You’re both fucking pathetic,’ said the woman, sipping daintily on her drink and not looking at either man. They started at either side of her head in amazement.

‘What?’

‘Yeah, what did you say?’

‘I said you’re both pathetic, moaning to the bar about how life’s been unfair to you. Shit, pul yourselves together. You’ve had it easy.’

At this both men turned on their stools, sensing a challenge about to arise.

‘What do you mean by that? You don’t know jack shit about me. I might be suicidal for all you know about me, so don’t go fucking saying I’ve had it easy. And my mate there,’ he said, waving a hand at the other man, ‘I bet he’s a twisted mother, ain’t you, mate?’

The man took a gulp of his drink, and seemed to be thinking about this.

‘No. I am not a twisted mother. But you clearly are. So why? Come on, I’ve got all night.’

‘What?’

‘Tell us why you think you’re so special, and then we’ll tell you. It’s got to be better than this music. I tell you what, we’ll wager on it. The one with the best reason to be pissed off gets free drinks for the rest of the evening after we finish. Is it a deal?’

The two other drinkers looked at the man. They shrugged, he was right, it was better than the music. So they got a table and sat there, looking at each other.

‘My name is Orvil,’ said the man.

‘And I’m an alcoholic,’ chuckled the other man.

‘Very funny. I am, actually. Which is part of the reason I’m here. But who are you, first?’

‘My name’s Keith.’

‘You can call me, ah, Nicola, I think. It doesn’t matter to me.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Right, let’s get to know each other. I take it I am starting?’ said Orvil. They shrugged, taking long drinks. He straightened his coat, which was long and grey, and pushed his seat a little back from the table. The a strange light entered his eyes and he started to speak…

Two men, both from the same school, both joined the army at the same time. They got in the same regiment and were going to climb the ranks together. Then war broke out in Bosnia. They got sent to keep the peace over there, and that is where it happened.

One day, on a routine patrol of the town, which was a ghost town save a few people who refused to leave despite the threat of death from the surrounding hills, the two men were ambushed by a small group, maybe three or four, of Muslim rebels. They fought, and shot two of the men in the firefight. Through the smoke they advanced slowly, very nervous about being in the middle of an actual fight after being signed up to a regiment in a rural district. They had both thought war had been abolished in favour of political sabotage, and that a career in the army meant a few tours of duty watching natives dig holes, maybe a couple of aid missions to hot places, but not any actual fighting. Now here they were, in the middle of an active war zone, shooting men for doing nothing but saying the wrong name when on their knees. At the time it seemed to be fair enough, because it was their job, and the told themselves that they would have been shot if they hadn’t fired first. Even chasing the remaining men through the ruins of people’s houses they thought they were doing their job.

They ran through the rubble, and cornered the men in a house which had been hit by a mortar in the recent past. Thinking there was no danger other than the poorly armed gunmen, they ran into the house, somehow convinced that the whole war, which they weren’t even supposed to be fighting in, rested on their action in that house. They ran in, guns blazing at shadows, until they were standing in the empty shell of the lower floor, looking at the corpses of the men who had been thousands of miles away just a few hours ago. And now they were dead because they had lived in the wrong place.

As the men were picking through the flotsam in the house, they heard a noise from upstairs. They tensed, and readied their guns as they heard something coming down the smashed stairs. Standing either side of a cracked doorway they were ready for whatever it was. Footsteps came closer, obviously being carefully to be quiet. As they approached, the two men nodded to each other and leapt out. Seeing something long and wooden being waved at them, they opened fire. The child dropped the broom handle in a welter of blood and his dying scream echoed longer than the sounds of the gunshots. He was defending his home against the soldiers who were their to protect him, and he died for a crumbling piece of concrete which was demolished for being a health hazard when the army knew it was unoccupied. But the look on that child’s face haunted the two men. One of them took his gun shortly afterwards and shot himself in the head. Of course, the army blamed his suicide on post traumatic stress syndrome, just like everything else. The truth was, he couldn’t live in a world where land was fought over as if it really mattered. The other man was sent home and honourably discharged. They even offered me a medal.

The pub seemed a lot more quiet when he finished, pulling a swig from his glass. He glared at the other two people, daring them to speak. They didn’t, for a few minutes. Then Nicola carefully placed her drink on the table, and looked at the two men.

‘That was very sad, Orvil. I’m sure you’re sorry. But just try and think what it would be like if you didn’t care about that kid. Think about that for a second…’

I bet you’ve seen how people in this town look at each other, haven’t you? It’s the way people look at each other throughout the so-called civilised world. It’s the way of looking at someone without seeing them, just seeing a space where you can’t walk. They walk along, looking at the floor as if there wasn’t an entire sky above their heads and they think that because they are going to the right place that they are doing what they want to. It isn’t so, but no one wants to change.

I once knew a man who invented his whole life to make himself sound good. He made up every last detail, and did it with such conviction that he was believed. To me, seeing this man was repulsive. He was hollow, he ad nothing, and everyone who didn’t see this was equally hollow. If there is something that you really dislike, what are your choices? Get away from it, or do something about it, right? I couldn’t get away from this, because it is a decease for which there is no cure. So I did the one thing that I was supposed not to do. I went against the laws of the land and of basic humanity, if anyone can tell me what that is. I shot him, but he deserved it for being someone who I had no problem shooting. I’ve got respect for life, what I don’t have respect for is people who just live because they have to.

I did it in a cinema, quite appropriate I thought. Then I got away, and here I am. I bet everyone has forgotten it now, haven’t they? See, all those people I killed didn’t matter one bit, and everyone else goes on without them. It’s sick but it’s the way people have been doing things for too long to change, and they’ll keep on doing exactly the same things longer than I’m alive for. What real difference does it make that I did what I wanted to to people whose idea of freedom was being able to choose what kind of food they ate, within strict laws of course because I expect the corn is even being blamed for cancer these days. It’s all a mechanism for controlled destruction of the human spirit. And that’s why I did what I did. You could get the psychologists to take this apart and say I had an abused childhood and was labelled as a a manic depressive with homicidal tendencies, but they’d be wrong. What they don’t understand is that I’m different from everyone else and what makes me crack and kill people will just seem everyday to someone else. They can’t quantify chaos, and in trying to do so they create more chaos and then have to try and make sense of that.’

She was talking louder now, and the two men watched as she started looking around in a very ominous manner. They carefully moved away from her slightly.

‘I’m okay, I’m not going to kill anyone here, although god knows they deserve it. I bet you that those three over there will go after this and have a kebab. Then they’ll go home and get up tomorrow and go to work and moan about their hangover and laugh at how drunk they must have been to eat those kebabs, something they’d never do when they were sober. But next week they’ll be back here again, eyes shining and saying "who want to go for a kebab after this pint?’ And that, gentlemen, is what makes me kill the two legged cattle.’

The men nodded into their respective drinks. They could see her point.

After a gulp of his drink Keith turned back to the watching pair and licked his lips, pointing shakily at them.

‘S’ you two reckon you’ve had it bad, do you? You don’t know shit.’