Someone punched the neighbour today. It was a fairly surprising event, to say the very least.
Lucy was in the garden with her partner and their two children. The lot of them were a little distracted by the autumn barbeque they were trying their best to kindle. I was out on the front stoop, watching Pen cover our garden path with strange chalk drawings. As I looked around, I noticed that a woman was walking down the road, looking rather haggard. I'd never seen someone such as her in town before so I kept an eye on her. The woman stopped just off of our street, and then broke into a run. She leaped over the neighbour's fence and ran straight at Lucy. This strange woman barreled into Lucy, easily knocking her and the barbeque over. The stranger was tall and heavy set, and though Lucy is no delicate flower herself the stranger was quite a formidable force! The woman kept punching her, and the neighbour was bleeding profusely, attempting to fight back. The stranger was oddly serene in her rage, even laughing-- it was really very surreal how calm everyone was.
Lucy's partner-- I believe his name is Jordan-- came out of the house, and with a cry, picked up the stranger and threw her over the fence. She landed on the ground painfully. Then she got up, staring intently at the house, then retreated out of sight. She was only just out of sight, though, as I saw her when I went to pick Penny up from school half an hour later.
If she's still there tomorrow, I may go out and talk to her.
Lucy was a bit traumatized, to say the least. She was oddly blase about it, though-- she said she was "expecting it." Apparently the woman who attacked her was one of the people who 'corrupted' her son. I feel like anyone that far off the path of spiritual health is in need of aid. Lucy smiled, and said that she didn't think anyone who took her son from her deserved help. She said she'd rather be an avenging angel than a kind, forgiving one. I didn't really know what to say. I felt a little sorry for her, at least. I can't imagine what it must have been like for her to lose her son. Well, I can, but I'd rather not dwell on it, for my own sanity.