In the early 1990s, I remember walking to school one morning and seeing a crowd gathered by a wall. I pushed my way through and saw him.
He looked to be in his teens, dressed in rags, leaning against the wall as if he had fallen asleep. But something felt wrong. No one sleeps that peacefully with a crowd standing around watching.
From the whispers around me, I slowly understood what had happened. He was a young beggar who had stolen a piece of flatbread. He was beaten to death for it.
I remember it was autumn, with brown fallen leaves all around him.
R.I.P.