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what happened last night

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Last night was the worst of my life. We were woken at 2:15 to the indescribably horrifying sounds of a woman being raped. She was screaming far more loudly than I would have thought a human could manage. I immediately got up, as she repeatedly screamed 'They're hurting me', 'Let me go', 'You're hurting my arms', and, simply, 'Rape!' Running to the balcony, I looked over into the dark area next to our building, but there was no one there. The noises seemed to be coming from an unlit patch of grass next to the building across the street. Sara spotted someone standing on one of the balconies of that building, and I saw what appeared to be the light from a flashlight shining into the bushes. I called the cops.

When I called them, the (male!) dispatcher asked if I wanted fire brigade, police, or ambulance. I said police. Then the police dispatcher asked me fore my name and number. I'm used to providing my first name and spelling my last, cos the Aussies - like many Canadians - never, ever get the spelling right when I say my name (or even come close). So I said "Michael," and paused before spelling my last name. He asked, 'Phone numbah?' before I could start. Blinking with surprise, I fed him my number. The woman kept screaming.

We ran down into the street. As we arrived, a car sped off. There were no more screams. The last thing I'd heard was the woman screaming 'Now you bastards can take me somewhere where they'll take care of me!'.

We went back up to the apartment after a while, and I waited up for the cops (like I was going to sleep at 3 AM after that!). The cops never came. They never called me back. I'm not surprised.

This country is starting to chafe.