A Boy Murdered

I can't get the image out of my head. His face before and after. I have a photo of him sitting in his cell, curled up in the corner with a sling around his left arm and bleeding, the result of what other inmates had done to him after he had been placed there for robbing a boy at gunpoint for a telephone and 100 gourdes (US$2.50). The gun was fake and no one was hurt. Haitians don't take kindly to thieves and depending on the gravity of the crime, stealing is usually punishable by death. I don't know his name. I don't know how old he was or where he came from or why he needed that money. I don't know his story. I wasn't there, but the boy who was robbed was there and he was borrowing my camera.

The other photo that I have of him is after he was released from the prison and attacked by the mob of men with machetes. This photo, which is forever burned into my memory, is of a boy not yet 18 years-old, outstretched on the ground with one arm across his chest and the other, bent up towards his face. His head is tilted back and his eyes are open. There are sneaker prints on his face, hands and feet. His jeans are soaked in blood. There are three pools of blood that surround him. To his right, is the fake gun that he had used, laying in one of the pools of blood. To his left, is a metal pole, covered in blood, that had been used to beat him to the ground. Next to the pole are two sets of feet, one with blue plastic sandals and the other with brown flip-flops. These are the feet of two of the people who helped kill this boy. When he was knocked to the ground, bludgeoned, stepped on and kicked, the men with machetes began to swing at him. Helpless and unable to defend himself, the machete hit his face, removing his right cheek in a single swing. Another swing cut into his achille's heel and another the top of his foot and then his thigh. The swings kept coming until he no longer moaned.

I have tried to delete these photos, but for some reason that I don't understand, I can't. I feel as though these photos are the only thing keeping the memory of this boy alive. The police released this boy to the mob. He was a lone the entire time with not a person in the world at his side, to help him, to defend him. This boy, who I never knew, who I wish I could have helped, will always be with me. I will never forget him. Here is one of his photos. I ask that you never forget him either.