Incident on Buchanan Street

The brazen way the woman grimaces as I pass her feels like an icy dagger in my back. What am I to her but a piece of human garbage? She recoils like she has stepped on roadkill. I walk on. Perhaps I might have challenged her, had I the guts. I’m kidding myself. I have no such guts. I want to hide from her, from everyone on the street, from my own embarrassment.

[ POLICE SCOTLAND STORM ANALYSIS ]

Date Time Locality

23 Aug 2025 1.15pm Corner of St Vincent Street and Buchanan Street

Narrative

Named witness reports seeing confrontation between two men. One man escapes down St Vincent Street, one staggers down Buchanan Street.

Since mother died I’ve been a Saturday afternoon shopper, to the little cigar shop just off Buchanan Street. I buy a pack of father’s favourites. He won’t have them from anywhere else. But this trip has been strange and awful.

Mother loved it here, on Glasgow’s Style Mile, perhaps stopping for lunch with a friend or popping into the gloriously sophisticated department stores. A Saturday shopper supreme, if ever there was one. This was her element.

I’ve really had to try so hard since she passed. I was too reliant on her. I should have been a better son. I find it so hard to be around people. Mother was so good at helping my temperament.

With her gone, no wonder I lashed out at the idiot pestering me for change. He called me an awful word. I stuttered and couldn’t respond. Maybe that awful word is how I must look to him, to everyone else. Did mother protect me from their hate? I threw him against the wall. He punched me in the back so hard, it has really winded me. I am surprised at the pain.

The people who saw the altercation are staring, like that woman with her awful grimacing face. I see them looking at me, disgusted and horrified. Why do they hate me so much? I feel strange heat in my face and on the nape of my neck. Mother would know what to do. She would run her hands under a cold tap and place them on me. I miss her hands so much.

I am causing a scene. I stumble past the grimacing woman. She tries to speak to me; to grab at me. I push past, arching my shoulder against my neck like a toddler shrugging off unwanted attention. Why must she torment me? I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to get down to the subway at St Enoch’s and disappear below, and home. Dad will be there, sitting in his chair, sitting in pain. He’ll probably shout at me when I get home, and won’t know my name. I’ll likely shout back at him.

[ POLICE SCOTLAND STORM ANALYSIS ]

Date Time Locality

23 Aug 2025 1.23pm Buchanan Street, outside “The Ivy”

Narrative

Named witness claims she sees man acting strangely and tries to intervene, he appears gravely injured.

This is all making me feel so lightheaded. I try to keep my face down, to shut myself down, to block out the stares and shouts rising around me. Why are the shoppers being so mean to me?

An old lady in a lovely pastel blue suit has come out of the Arcade. She reminds me of my mother. She looks me up and down, and her face is filled with horror. Am I so ugly and awkward that even a little old lady is repulsed? I try to smile at her; smile to show her I am just a lovely boy. My mother told me so. But the old lady holds her hands to her chest, and staggers back from me in fright.

A security guard appears. He is shouting at me. He must think I was trying to hurt the old lady.

“Leave me alone! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

He grabs my shoulder and says something about getting help. If the old lady needs help, then let him help her. It’s not my fault she’s upset.

[ POLICE SCOTLAND STORM ANALYSIS ]

Date Time Locality

23 Aug 2025 1.27pm Buchanan Street, adjacent to Argyle Arcade

Narrative

Arcade security alerted to man outside acting strangely. SIA guard notes the man is seriously injured and tries to assise. The man refuses aid. SIA guard calls ambulance 999

I stagger free, and sprint down Buchanan Street. The street is bustling and noisy, yet loneliness spills over my body like a wet chill. My senses are blasted by buskers, all women, playing drums. They are making a terrible racket! My ears are sore. I cannot concentrate.

A teenage boy in leathers and mascara sees me and swears (“Jesus Christ!”), grabbing his girl away from me. Why are people so hateful?

I can feel tears coming amongst this bedlam. I rub at my eyes behind my spectacles. I realise there is no one to love me, not even my father; who longer even knows me. This world has become a terrible place. I feel like I am being emptied, flushed away.

I plod on, past the drummers. Mercifully, they stop. Yet, though the music has gone, the buzz in my head remains. I feel faint and sweaty. Oh God, I feel wetness in my jeans. Have I pissed my own pants? No wonder everyone is recoiling from me. There is no one to love me.

My body seems to be telling me I should just lie down and hope this all goes away. I rub at my eyes again; I am struggling to focus. I feel round to my backside and, oh God, my hand comes away damp. My vision is blurring but I see my hand is smeared with blood. I am so very cold.

One of the drumming ladies is beside me. She has such a kind, loving face. She is not angry, but worried. I drop to one knee, and she helps me lie on my side. “Please stop them looking at me,” I implore, my voice pitiful and child-like.

[ POLICE SCOTLAND STORM ANALYSIS ]

Date Time Locality

23 Aug 2025 1.36pm Buchanan Street, outside Frasers department store

Narrative

Multiple named witnesses note seeing injured man. Some see a knife sticking out of his back and he is drenched in blood and very confused. The witnesses say he collapsed next to a group of street performers.

“Your poor, poor love. Lie on your side so the paramedics can see the knife,” she says. “They’re on their way.” Her voice is so soft, like petals. She places a hand on my forehead; it is cold and soothing, like my mothers. I raise my hand to touch her face. My fingers are covered in blood. I am petrified; there is blood all around me. I try to lash out; I cannot. All I know is panic.

“You poor love,” I hear from somewhere above me.

“Mother,” I cry, my voice a whimper.

[ POLICE SCOTLAND STORM ANALYSIS ]

Date Time Locality

23 Aug 2025 2.12pm Buchanan Street, outside Frasers department store

Narrative

Attending paramedics confirm victim is deceased, from apparent stab wound to lower back.

[ POLICE SCOTLAND STORM ANALYSIS ]

Date Time Locality

25 Aug 2025 9.09am Named flat on Paisley Road West.

Narrative

Confirmed visit to deceased next-of-kin, father.

Father believed to suffer from dementia.

Officers request specialist bereavement officer to be dispatched, and social services informed.

BIO: J.S. Apsley is an author based in Glasgow, Scotland who won the Ringwood Publishing short story prize 2024 for his debut fiction submission, "Immersion" and has since placed over fifty short stories in journals and magazines around the world, such as the Brussels Review, Creation, the Colored Lens, Fiction on the Web, Mobius BLVD, Necessary Fiction, Tales of the Unreal and others.

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