TREETMENT

TREETMENT

A short story about an alternative to cyclical violence

By William Morgan

Aziz stood in front of a full length mirror, wearing a leather jacket which drowned him. Posters of half naked gangster rappers covered the walls, showing off their muscular physiques, tattoos and handguns.

Aziz looked at his reflection. He turned his head to one side, pouting his lips, trying to visualise what he would look like when his puppy fat finally disappeared. He folded his arms, cocked a shoulder up in the air, trying to complete the pose. He relaxed his body, smiling involuntarily, but was shocked by the childish innocence that his face displayed. He redoubled his effort to look angry, nasty.

He regained his pose, folding his arms, pouting his lips.

‘What your problem?’ he asked.

‘You sound like a girl.’ He thought to himself.

Summoning hatred, he tried again. ‘What your problem?’ On the last word, his head instinctively flicked down to the right. Now that looked tough. ‘I said, what your problem?’ This time he forced the flick of the head, but pretended to himself that he didn’t. He flung his right hand out in front of himself, holding out two fingers like a gun. ‘You be dead, bitch.’ Aziz fired the “gun” twice, letting his whole body feel the recoil.

Then he smiled, and his face didn’t become a child, it was the visage of a satisfied man. Aziz was so excited to see his manliness that his expression at once became the face of a boy who had just seen a magic trick, and the manliness was gone.

He allowed himself to be excited, swaying in his big brothers jacket. ‘Badass gangster. Badass gangster!’ he sand to himself.

Anisa leaned against the hallway of their council estate flat, listening to her son’s daydreams.. Her head drooped forward, legs crossed, her left arm tightly under breasts, her right rubbing her temples with a lit cigarette between the fingers. She tried not to think about the past, the present of the future.

Footsteps were heard outside the flat, and they stopped at the front door, replaced by the sounds of jangling keys. Anisa snapped out of her melancholy and looked at the front door – Kiume was home.

Aziz heard the front door open. He ran to the open closet and leapt out of the jacket, grabbing a coat hanger for it. He worked to get it on, as he heard the front door close.

Kiume walked into the flat, followed by his friend Box. The swung around the hallway and headed towards the room in which Aziz was now replacing the jacket. Kiume opened the door to his room.

‘Where have you been?’ his mothers voice rang out from the kitchen.

Kiume stopped, and closed his bedroom door. He turned to his mother. ‘What?’

‘I said: where have you been?’

Kiume sauntered down the hall towards her, Box in tow like a puppet.

‘I’ve been out.’ Kiume stood inches from his mothers face. He was a few inches taller than her now, and though only 16, he was big enough to scare 90% of the world’s population. Anisa looked over his shoulder, but there was no movement from Kiume’s room. Kiume saw her look, and questioned it with a stare.

‘Who’s your friend?’

‘He’s my friend. What your problem?’ he snapped back without a milliseconds hesitation.

Anisa wasn’t going to be able to hold her ground much longer. ‘What’s his name?’

Box, taller than Kiume but gangly and wobbly like vines in the wind, spoke up. ‘Box. They call me Box.’ He smiled, wanting to tell the joke, but a quick, small turn of Kiume’s head in his direction silenced him.

‘Nice to meet you.’ Anisa relaxed.

‘This place is a mess. Clean it up.’ Kiume turned towards his room, but stopped. In his path stood Aziz, looking up at him. ‘What your problem?’ He snarled.

‘Nothin. What your problem?’ Aziz answered back.

Kiume eyes flashed wide, and he launched a fist at Aziz’s face, but stopped it an inch from impact. Aziz didn’t flinch. Kiume laughed and hugged his brother. ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin about! My little brother- he’s a badass intcha?’

Aziz smiled. ‘Yeah.’

Kiume turned to Box. ‘Carn bruv.’ They walked down the hall and went into his room.

‘Shut the door.’

Box did as he was told, then sat on the bed, while Kiume started rummaging around the base of his closet.

Box couldn’t sit still. He wringed his hands, realised that he was doing it and tried to sit still, but was defeated by involuntarily tapping his heel against the ground. Kiume noticed this. ‘Chickenshit.’ He said to himself, but loud enough so that Box could hear him. Box tried to breathe to calm himself down, remembering how that worked when he played football. He held still, focusing on one point on the wall, and his heartbeat started to slow down.

‘Box.’ He turned to Kiume, but found the barrel of a p38 revolver inches from his face. He threw his hands up in surrender, and his heart immediately launched into overdrive.

Kiume, now standing, lowered the gun, shaking his head at his cowering, very pale friend.

‘Do you want in, Box?’

He regained himself. ‘Yeah. Yeah, for sure.’

‘Then stop being such a bitch!’ Kiume put the gun down the front of his pants, and covered it with his shirt. ‘Let’s go.’

Next door, with his ear pressed up against the wall of his own cupboard, Aziz listened to the boys leave. He smiled. ‘You a bitch, Box!’ he felt that no-one would dare respond even if anyone had heard him.

Not long afterwards, in another council estate flat, Kiume and Box sat in the middle of a lounge room, seemingly surrounded by stoned teenagers that formed a seated border around the room. A layer of smoke divided the top half of the room from the bottom. Box didn’t know where to put his eyes, while Kiume held a humble but confident look at the floor.

Manani, a great hulk of a man, sat in front of the boys, with attractive an attractive young woman on either side of him. He leant forward. ‘We, are a family, and I, am the father. If you want to join, you must understand. Everything costs. Everyone pays. Nothing is for free. You can have anything that you want, but you can have nothing for free. Do you understand?’ The boys nodded. ‘We want you to join our family, but it costs to join. Five thousand. Do you have the money?’ Kiume shook his head. ‘Do you want me to tell you where you can get the money?’

Kiume looked at the leader without raising his head. He could feel that his every move was being judged, and the answer to this question was no different. ‘How much will the information cost?’

There were murmurs of approval from around the room, and a proud smile from Manani. ‘One thousand.’

‘That’s fair.’ Said Kiume, meeting Manani’s eyes. Manani nodded to a man on his right, who handed Kiume a piece of paper. Kiume checked what was on the paper, and pocketed it.

Manani liked this boy. He showed respect, had a brain and a backbone. ‘Remember,’ he said to them ‘once you are in, we will take care of you, and not only you, but your family as well. We are all one big family here.’

Kiume nodded at the leader. He understood.

___

Abidugun sat on the floor of the lounge room of his council estate flat, watching Man U play Bolton on the widescreen TV. Kahiga lay on the couch, stoned and asleep.

Outside his front door, Kiume and Box, with a bag slung over his shoulder, pulled on their balaclavas. Kiume held his gun ready, and signalled to the quivering Box to open the door. Box turned the handle.

Abidigun heard a noise. He glanced toward the front door. ‘Customers.’ He thought.

Box shrugged his shoulders- the door was locked. Perhaps that was enough to call it off. Kiume scowled at him, lifted his knee and gave a mighty kick against the door.

Abidigun jolted as he heard a loud, dull thud from the door. His breathing hastened. ‘Bullshit’ he thought to himself. Then there was a louder thud and sounds of the doorjamb cracking. He swore and reached under the couch. He pulled out his automatic and magazine, and then slammed the magazine into the weapon. There was a scratching sound just before the magazine fell out again. Wrong way around. He picked it up off the floor.

Kiume knew that time was short. ‘Fuck!’ he said, raised his gun and fired two shots into the door lock, splintering it. The door gently swung open and Kiume charged in to see Abidigun crouched on the floor, fumbling with a gun. Abidigun raised his hands in surrender, but all Kiume saw was the gun coming up. He fired twice, hitting Abidigun in the shoulder and heart, as the magazine slipped out of the automatic and dropped onto the carpet. Abidigun collapsed to the floor.

Box hobbled into the room, smelling cordite, and seeing the fountains of blood coming out of the bullet wounds. Kiume was frozen to the spot. Box vomited. Kahiga raised himself up on the couch,’What the fu-‘ he began. Kiume swung the gun in his direction. Kahiga raised his arms.

‘MONEY!’ Kiume shouted. Kahiga pointed to a small bookshelf on the opposite wall filled with books. ‘Get it.’ Kiume said to Box. Box was swearing and weeping, so Kiume grabbed him by jacket and hurled him into the bookshelf. The shelves collapsed, the books fell forward to reveal that they were just shells covering hundreds of banknotes. ‘Bag it!’ yelled Kiume, keeping his gaze on Kahiga. Box, crying, snivelling and predicting his own doom, shovelled money into the bag. The three boys couldn’t help but look at the dead, twisted body of Abidigun, his eyes staring up and out the flat window. Kiume looked at the automatic and the magazine lying beside him.

‘Is that enough?’ asked Box through sobs.

‘Get it all.’ said Kiume. Box did as he was told. ‘Lets go.’ Box couldn’t be out of there fast enough, Kiume left at a steady jog.



Aziz played his playstation, sitting too close to the screen. Anisa was reading the details of the warning on her cigarette packet while she smoked. The door opened, and Kiume entered the room. He looked like he had been for a run.

‘Hey’ he said. ‘Alright?’

Anisa noticed that he didn’t seem as angry as usual ‘OK. You?’

‘Yeah, good.’ He became distracted by Aziz’s game. ‘What you playin, Az?”

‘GTA.’

‘Yeah. Nice.’ He had already forgotten the question that he had asked. His attention was flitting between one thing and another.

‘You want some tea?’ asked Anisa, puzzled by her son’s behaviour.

‘Nah, nah, I’m good. I gotta go, yeah? Hey, you said the other day that you couldn’t get Az his trainers cause you didn’t have the cash yeah?’ Anisa nodded. ‘Well here’ he held out some banknotes. ‘and grab whatever food we need as well, yeah?’

Anisa looked at the money, then at Kiume. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘What? Whatsit matter?’

‘Where?’

‘I borrowed it.’

‘Borrowed? From who?’

‘Whatsit matter?’

Anisa looked at her son. She already knew where it had come from. ‘Did you steal it?’

The light of Kiume’s good mood began to dwindle. ‘What you ask that for? I told you I borrowed it.’

‘From who?’

‘None of your fuckin business!’ the light of happiness was snuffed out. ‘You used to do this to Dad. Everytime he’d get some cash, he’d come home and say that we should all go out, and you would accuse him of stealin’ it, wonderin where he got it, and he’d crack it, run out and spend it himself, and me and Az would miss out.’

‘He did steal it!’

‘Who gives a shit? He’d get it.’

‘I left him because of his stealing-‘

‘He left you!’

‘You don’t remember.’

‘I do remember! And now I know why, because all you ever fuckin do is ruin everything.’

‘Kiume-‘

‘Bitching, complaining, crying, bitching, complaining, crying-‘

‘Stop it-‘

‘Who the fuck could stand to live with you? Won’t be long before Az and me get the fuck away from you like Dad did.’

‘STOP IT!’ Anisa launched herself at him, but Kiume threw his arms towards her and sent her flying onto the ground, with the money floating down on top of her like leaves.

Aziz kept his eyes on the screen as Kiume left and Anisa picked herself up. He kept his eyes on the screen, and his mouth shut.

2159

The next day, Aziz looked was looking out of the lounge room window at his brother and Box, sitting on a bench outside the estate. There were lots of the local girls around them, and they were all talking about something, Aziz didn’t know what. Kiume’s popularity had definitely gone up lately, he knew that.

A big white van pulled up, followed by police cars. They were around all the time, but Aziz never got to find out why. He saw some police officers get out of the police car, and more from the van, and then there were some other people, but weren’t dressed as police. They headed straight towards Kiume and Box.

Kiume said something to Box, got up off the bench, and started walking into the estate, but the police ram at him. Suddenly there were more- from all angles, Kiume tried to run, but was tackled and pinned to the ground.

The police put him and Box into the van. The girls were yelling at the police.

‘Mum.’ Aziz said.

‘Yes, hon?’

‘We better go to the police station.

2343
There was a knock at the door. Aziz opened it, and Box was there with a girl. ‘Is your mum home?’

‘No. Why?’

Box ignored him. ‘It’s cool, babe.’ Pushing past Aziz, he headed straight for Kiume’s room, muttering something about having to use the room for a while.

Sometime later, Box and the girl reappeared, and headed towards the door. Aziz came out of his room. ‘Hang on Babe, I just have to get something to drink’ Box said. The girl left.

Aziz walked into the kitchen to find Box with his head in the fridge. ‘I don’t like you using my brother’s room.’ He said to him. Box looked at him, grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, and drank from it. He slammed the fridge door shut, and, with carton in hand, headed out of the kitchen.

‘You listenin, Box?’ he had barely said the words when Box gave him a backhander, the sting of which burned his face. Aziz shrunk to the floor with his face in his hands, and waited for Box to leave with the milk before he began to cry.

2532

Box knocked on Manani’s door. He walked in a swagger these days, and when the door opened, he offered the guy at the door a high 5, which was returned.

He swaggered into the lounge to find Manani standing, with a few of the bigger gang members standing either side of him.

‘Sup?’ he asked cockily.

Manani moved aside to show Aziz standing next to him. ‘You know his boy?’

Box’s smile faded. ‘Yeah. It’s Az, Kiume’s little bro. Az, how you doin bruv?’

Aziz looked at him angrily, but Manani spoke for him. ‘You hit him? You use his house for your women? You take his food?’

Box started to shake, unable to reply.

‘You disrespect him, you disrespect ME!’ the last word was roared, Box swallowed hard. Manani walked up and grabbed him by the throat, putting his face so close he could smell his garlicky breath. ‘I will teach you respect.’ He threw him into the lounge.

‘Manani! Manani! I’m sorry, man!’ His pleas were cut short as the two gang members began Box’s lesson with a flurry of punches to his face and body. Aziz couldn’t look, and didn’t like the sound of Box’s squealing. Manani took him out into the hall.

He knelt down so that they were face to face. ‘You were right to come to me. I can see your brother in you- he is a good man, a strong man. There are good things in his future- I can see it.’

Aziz became worried at the mention of his brother. ‘He’s going to go to jail.’ He whimpered.

‘Only for a little while.’ Said Manani soothingly. ‘And he will be OK. You will get to see him, and he will live well. He will make friends, and be happy. Out here, I will take care of you, as long as he takes care of me. Do you think that he will take care of me?’

Aziz smiled. ‘Yeah.’

‘I think that you are right.’ Manani smiled back.

2686

The door buzzed, Anisa prepared herself for what she was about to see as the guard showed her into the interview room. She walked in to see Kiume, in handcuffs, sitting at a metal table. She couldn’t help herself; she ran up and kissed him all over.

He accepted her embrace for a moment, and then gently peeled her off him. ‘OK. OK. You alright?’

‘Yeah’ she lied, ‘I’m OK. Az is good too.’

Their reunion was interrupted by the sound of the door being buzzed and then swung open. Malcolm Hoddleworth, a public defence attorney and slave to the system entered and swung around and sat the other side of the desk.

‘OK, sorry I’m late. We don’t have a lot of time.’ He began without looking at either of them. Anisa and Kiume took their seats.

Malcolm opened a file he was open, and observed the photograph inside- comparing it with Kiume, ensuring that he had the right person. ‘OK. So at the moment, you are looking at 20 years, 15 with good behaviour.’

‘What?’ sparked Kiume. ‘It was self defence!’

‘Not according to the police statement.’ He looked at the file ’Apparently he was unarmed-‘

‘He had a gun! How is that unarmed?’ Kiume protested.

‘The weapon was unloaded, and the witness said that he was putting his hands up- and you shot him in cold blood.’

‘That’s not how it went down.’

‘Well, that is how it looks.’

‘That ain’t how it is.’

Michael put the file down and interlaced his fingers, resting on his elbows. ‘That, is what the statement says. That, is what a jury will hear, and that, therefore, is exactly how it is.’

‘Fuckin bullshit lawyer shit.’ Kiume’s insides felt like ice.

‘So that’s it?’ Anisa asked, dumbfounded. ‘That’s all that you can do?’

‘Well, no.’ Michael replied with a twitch of his lips. ‘There is an alternative.’

‘Nah, fuck that man, I ain’t grassin on nobody. You can fuck off. I’ll do my time- I ain’t scared, I’ll be alright mum, don’t you worry.’

‘What alternative?’ asked Anisa, mildly hopeful.

‘It’s a, rehabilitation program.’ Michael said, as if speaking of a retirement home.

‘Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?’

‘Hold on, Kia!’ Anisa made a demand on her son, the first time that she had done that for as long as she could remember. Kiume quietened down. ‘What sort of program?’

‘Well,’ Michael began. ‘the problem with the system at the moment is that, if someone such as Kiume were to go through the usual route, he would end up in prison, along with other violent criminals, and he would have to become, well, more violent, which would exacerbate the problem. Make the problem worse. Therefore, her majesty’s government has decided an alternative route: to try and change the cycle of violence via a behaviour modification program.’ He held out a 50-page brief. Anisa took it.

‘I ain’t rattin, mother fucker.’ Kiume wasn’t following.
Anisa looked through the document, trying to quickly avoid the bureaucratic approval steps, and get to the details. Both Kiume and Michael allowed her time to browse. ‘Hormone enhanced behavioural manipulation’ she read out. ‘What sort of hormones?’

‘I don’t know.’ Replied Michael matter-of-factly. ‘I’m not a doctor. However, I am a lawyer, and I do know that this’ he turned a couple of pages for her ‘is a guarantee.’

Anisa read aloud. ‘Upon effective completion of modification program, subject will be released from his sentence and assisted in finding full time employment... regardless of the length of his sentence.’ She let that sink in for a moment. ‘So, if he does the program, and rehabilitates himself, he can go free when they say that he is ready?’ Michael nodded. ‘How long does it take?’

‘Estimates are about a year.’ replied Michael positively.

‘He could be out in a year?’ Anisah didn’t know what she was hearing.

Kiume was very intrigued, but still cautious. ‘If I get out in a year, they’ll think I’ll have ratted to save my own ass. They’ll kill me man.’

‘Two things on that,’ began Michael. ‘A: The witness, the murder weapon, it all points to you and nobody else. Therefore, you have nothing to rat with. The murder concerns you and you alone, you can’t incriminate anyone to cut a deal as you have no evidence. B: if the program is successful, you will be able to start a completely new life.’

Kiume thought on this. ‘So I get out within a year.’ He said. Michael nodded. ‘I’ll do it.’

Anisah was overjoyed. This was the better than she could have imagined. Kiume smiled as he signed the documents- ‘I’ll trick the bastards,’ he thought to himself ‘and be out kickin’ it with my boys in no time.’

3667

6 months had passed since the hearing. Kiume was found guilty of 1st degree murder, and sentenced to 15-20 years, just like Michael had predicted. He had immediately been taken to a facility for the program to begin.

Anisah had heard nothing since. She decided to keep the knowledge of the program from Aziz- he would simply ask a lot of questions that she couldn’t answer. The story, backed up by the government, was he had been taken to an undisclosed facility for violent criminals.

Aziz told that to Manani, who sympathised with him, consoling him that he could not see his brother, telling him not to worry- his brother was a good man, and a strong man- no –one would hurt him. In the meantime, Manani’s protection ensured that no-one came near Aziz or his mother, though Box was itching for revenge. Every time that he had Aziz crossed paths, Box would say something, do something to ensure that Aziz knew they weren’t friends and never would be.

Aziz wasn’t scared. One day he would be big like Kiume, and then he would beat Box senseless himself.

The phone call came through that Anisah was allowed to visit Kiume. She immediately bundled Aziz into a taxi and set off.

They pulled up towards the centre where Kiume was being held. Aziz looked out the window to see a hospital-like building, and a man in a white coat out the front waiting to greet them. As they pulled up, Aziz said to his mother ‘What sort of place is this?’

His mother didn’t reply, rather just opening the door and bundling him out of the taxi. They were introduced to the man in the coat, a Dr Souchon, who showed them inside.

Aziz walked down the toothpaste-green walls of the building- a place unlike anything that he had ever been to. There was a reception centre in the middle of the building, and identical corridors running off in parallels, with metal doors on either side. As they made their way through the building, nurses, pushing trolleys full of hospital paraphernalia would walk past. That strangest thing that Aziz noticed about this place was that no-one was in a hurry; no-one seemed particularly excited. Everyone was just doing their job efficiently.

Anisah and Souchon had been chatting since they came in. Souchon spoke very pleasantly- in a clipped English accent, but with a very caring interest in his voice. ‘We have several patients undergoing the TREET program. And they are all housed in this facility. So far we have seen a 100% success rate in their rehabilitation.’

‘100%?’ asked Anisah incredulously.

‘Yes. The program needs to be altered to suit the patient, so we can’t tell how long the process will take, however, we can almost guarantee that the program will be successful!’

Anisah was amazed ‘So you could possibly end all crime?’

Souchon laughed. ‘No, not quite. Lawyers are always inventing more crimes, so that’s going to be difficult.’
Anisah laughed as well. ‘Yeah, thats true.’

‘We can, feasibly, end all violent crime. TREET is for violent offenders. But, not all crime is violent, as you know, so we are going to have to see about another program for other crimes.’ Souchon brought them to a halt outside a door. ‘Just in here. Perhaps,’ he locked eyes with Anisa ‘you would like to see the differences first. They are significant.’ He gestured slightly to reference Aziz.

Anisah nodded. ‘Wait out here love.’ Aziz rested up against the wall as Souchon swiped a card, the door buzzed and the two adults entered the room.

4268

The room that they entered was rectangular, with a black piece of glass on the wall. Anisah could tell that it was some sort of viewing room. She pointed at the glass. ‘Is he in there?’ Souchon nodded. ‘Should I prepare myself for a shock?’ Souchon shrugged his shoulders. He flicked a switch on the wall and the panel became a clear window, looking straight into a bedroom. Anisah thought that they had got the wrong room.

It was a girl’s bedroom. There was pink everywhere- the bed, the walls, the roof. There was a white chest of drawers next to the bed. There was a dark wooden dresser with a mirror, and various beauty products on it. There was a dolls house, sitting against the wall, and in the middle of the floor sat Kiume.

He was wearing a yellow dress with blue flowers on it. His hair had grown out into a large afro, and he was sitting, cross legged in the middle of the floor brushing the hair of a barbie-doll.

Anisah stood back in horror. ‘What is this? What have you done to him?’ she cried, eyes wide with fright.

‘We have used a hormone replacement therapy to alter Kiume’s behaviour. You see, we don’t want Kiume getting any more aggressive, and on the road that he was on, he would most certainly have become much more aggressive. Therefore, we had to alter his life trajectory by changing the internal compass.’

Anisah shook her head as if trying to get a fly out of her mind. ‘What sort of hormones?’

‘Primarily Oestrogen’

‘Oestrogen? You’ve turned him into a... girl?’

‘No.’ Said Dr Souchon. He still spoke caringly. ‘Anatomically, he is still exactly the same as he was. His violent nature on the other hand is now a thing of the past. Testosterone is the major cause for his violent behaviour, but also his environment. We can’t really change the environment, but we can change the testosterone levels.’

‘Why have you done this? What will Aziz say?’ Anisah was becoming hysterical.

‘It is precisely Aziz that we are doing this for.’ Anisah looked at him. ‘You see the problem with the current penal system, is that a culture has grown up around it. The problem of violence and criminal behaviour is so endemic that we had to take drastic measures in order to change the culture. It is like this: men look up to the strongest of the group. In criminal culture, the strongest is the most aggressive and the most violent of the group, often due to a high level of testosterone. The group then rallies around this one strong member, and becomes like him. Sending the member to prison will simply exacerbate the problem, as they will simply need to be more violent there, and may even like the idea of being sent to prison, as it makes them appear even stronger. Hence, we need the punishment to be something that eliminates that strength.

‘Futhermore, in modern times a popular culture of worship has grown up around the criminal or the gangster. Therefore, the more violent, the more threatening that you can be, the greater status you will achieve in the eyes of your worshippers. This culture made it incredibly difficult to discourage violence and criminal behaviour amongst the youth. Some young males set out to become violent and dangerous simply to raise their status amongst the eyes of the group.

‘So, being violent leads to alpha male status, and we have developed a program whereby being violent leads to omega female. The punishment for an overexertion of strength is no longer a response of strength, it is the removal of strength.'

Anisah was too stunned to argue with the logic. ‘So what happens to him now?’

‘Well, the treatment has another few months to go, but once finished, he will be released back into your custody. He will have to complete the sentence, but we will get him to work in aged care for the remainder of the term.’

‘What, like helping old people?’

‘Yes, exactly. We are going to start him there. We think that he may like it. Most of the people in the current program will be going into social care of one form or another, helping the law-abiding disadvantaged.’

‘But who is going to protect us?’

‘Protect you?’ asked Souchon, a little confused. ‘Protect you from whom?’ he could see that she didn’t want to answer, which answered for her. ‘Trust me- the criminals are about to see the greatest deterrent that ever existed.’

Kiume stood up, and walked up to the glass. He played with his hair, kissed the glass, then giggled like a schoolgirl.

5057

Aziz leaned back against the wall. They had been in the room for a while. Suddenly the door slid open and Anisah walked out. She was clearly distressed, on the verge of tears.

She reached out to him. ‘Come on, lets go.’

‘What?’ he protested. ‘Where’s Kia?’

‘He’s right through here.’ Dr Souchong walked down the hall, and buzzed open a door. Aziz started for the door.

‘No!’ Screamed Anisah.

Aziz looked at her strangely. ‘Shut up.’ He said before he entered into the room. Souchong looked at Anisah, and smiled.

The room was another viewing area, and then a door. Aziz opened the door and went into the room. At first he thought that he was in the wrong place, but then he saw Kiume sitting on the bed, wearing a dress.

Kiume saw him, smiled brightly and ran over to his little brother, hugging him tightly. ‘Hel- lo- Az-iz!’ he said, jumping around and clapping his hands.

Aziz had a moment to take the room in. ‘What the fuck you do to him man?’ he said to Souchong, his voice straining from the emotion. ‘What the fuck it he doing in a girls room? In a dress?’

‘He decorated it himself.’ Replied Souchong, impressed with his handiwork. ‘Didn’t you Kiume?’

‘Oh yes!’ replied Kiume happily. ‘Don’t you like my dress, Aziz?’ he held it out and swung from side to side.

‘What are you doing, Kia? You look like a poofter!’ Aziz was almost crying.

‘Oh don’t worry.’ Said Kiume ‘Hugs make everything better.’ He embraced his brother, who reacted like he had just been hit. Aziz threw Kiume onto the floor, who fell into the foetal position and began to cry.

Aziz was terrified. He turned and ran out of the room.

In the taxi on the way home. Aziz and Anisah held each other tighly, both crying. They agreed to keep it a secret. Not to tell anyone. They couldn’t risk people finding out, they family would lose all respect, and therefore all saferty.