Marching. Marching through Lewisham. It was bricks and bottles and Union Jacks. It was 'Immigrants Out' kill us. People we knew. And it was you.

The day was red. It was late November, darkness consuming the grey day as the rioters set the shadows ablaze with their firecrackers. Red smoke emitting from them like a mist ready to devour. It was loud, shouting, crying, colliding with all your thoughts.

Omar was shaking, his fear was swallowing him up. His legs almost failed him, police protecting him from the loud skinheads. Their beady eyes narrowed as they screamed. Nothing he had never heard.
'Wog'
'Jungle monkey'
'Dirty pakis'

They raised signs, flags as their chanting filled the streets. He watched in horror, standing alongside his father who's eyes were wide and afraid. They were like spooked animals, craving the need to survive.

He wanted to run but he was hypnotized as if it was a movie. Suddenly a bottle flew at him. The police guard yelled but Omar was crying out in agony at the beer bottle shards stuck his forearm and hand.

"Papa!" He stared as blood dribbled down his arms.
His father carefully helped pick the pieces of glass.
It hurt like blazing hell and it didn't help people screamed slander at them.
'Make it stop' he vowed that he wouldn't cry.
He promised his dad that he was strong so he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as pieces of his skin raggedly hung on.

He couldn't wash it now even if it stung like fire.
He felt a migraine pounding at the base of his skull.
He looked up, the glimpse of blond fuzzy hair made his stomach jump to his throat.
He wouldn't go on if it was him..

He saw his sharp and well structured face, pale as snow and the black and red coat..
It was Johnny, his Johnny.
The same Johnny he knew since he was a child.

The same Johnny who used to climb trees with him.
The one who was a timid stuttering child with awful parents in which turned into someone misunderstood.
The boy who let him under his skin, let him know what he knew and his insecurities.

Nobody but Omar knew that he was afraid of thunder, had always wanted a nice Chevy, knew the burn scar on his under shoulder..
He knew all his secrets because he spilled his own, he never had fallen for someone so hard.

He never pictured them parting, but here he was, shouting out the awful slurs that he used to get mad about.
He protected him from the awful cruel world but he begun to realize maybe Johnny was part of it himself.

Johnny looked around, rabidly almost, like he was looking for someone.
He fixated a look on him and his father.
His lips parted and his eyes widened in surprise. He saw them and he looked ashamed and embarrassed. He looked quickly away, averting his gaze from them.

Omar wanted to yell, to run to him but he was stuck to the ground by the glue named 'fear'.
His heart hurt more than his hand and he cried.
The tears rolled down his eyes, he couldn't stop.
He felt pain, someone you love, despising you for something you can't change.

Did Johnny even care?
He was angry, terrified but mostly heart broken.
His father led him back to the flat.
Quiet and sleepy..
No one spoke, his mother was making tea.

He shot her a look and she knew exactly what happened.
His father ranted and Omar was too spread thin from the riot.
Why? Was Johnny really like this? Empty and cold at him or was it a misunderstanding?

They hadn't talked in a year or two.. Such loneliness, he wanted to do nothing more but cuddle Johnny.
But his life wasn't like that. He knew his parents were suffering themselves and Omar needed to move on but how could you?

Loving and knowing someone for your entire life so far, leaves you and goes against you.
It's a mystery that you never want to solve because you know the answers are too heart breaking for you.

That night, Omar laid in bed, eyes wide and peering at the ceiling.
The moment repeating in his mind like a broken tape cassette.
The sad look of Johnny's eyes, how their soft shape turned into a sliver of being ashamed and dismay.

His mind overran with the same constant word, Johnny.
Was it fate? Did Johnny become a skinhead because of him? Was it his fault?

Across the way, Johnny sat on his mattress.
His room was empty and bare, he drank to try to forget the things he did today.
It gave him a rush to yell, to pick on someone smaller than you..

In the back of remorseful mind, he remembered the shocked face of Husseir and his disappointed Omo.
He stared at the fabric of the mattress.
He never hated Pakis, he wanted to Rebel, fight for a cause after dropping out.

He had nowhere to go and he was found by them.
He wanted to endlessly wash his hands after today.
It was only a second but it felt like an hour staring down the Ali's.

His hand and arm was rough and bloody and his eyes were teary.
He had hurt someone he loved so much.
It put him in a state of guilt that no living being could comprehend.

He felt odd when his 'friends' spoke about how dirty they were but when Johnny felt indifferent, he always remember how soft the colour of Omar's skin was.

He was obsessed with him, a ghost of his childhood that made him realize that Omar was the only good part of his life.
The only time he'd wake up on weekends was to know that his boyfriend was coming.

They hid their relationship but Omar vowed that it was them against the world but at the riot it was the opposite. Omar against Johnny.
He felt like a shit bag and he wanted to make it up to him.

But what was he supposed to do? Give him flowers and apologize for his childish behaviour.
He knew it wouldn't work but who could blame him?