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At first, I thought the commotion outside my house was caused by revellers pouring out of the local pub.
It wasn’t long before Christmas and, as I got ready for bed, I assumed the raised voices came from too much seasonal goodwill rather than anything more sinister.
It was only when the flashing blue lights of an ambulance lit up my bedroom that I pulled back the curtain.
There, sprawled on the pavement outside my house was a teenage boy. A paramedic was bent over him, trying to staunch the blood I could clearly see flooding from his abdomen.
The boy looked so young and vulnerable as he was placed on a stretcher and carried to the ambulance, an oxygen mask over his face. Deeply shaken, I watched the ambulance speed off, wondering if he would survive.