It started with jeers and swearing as a man passed the park. There were about fifteen of us. We were just faces. We didn't really know each other. We used to to buy cheap cider, sit in the park and smoke. It was all exciting to a thirteen year old. Some of us knew our parents would throw a wobbly if they knew what we were up to. Others pushed it further under their noses and waited for a telling off that never came.

It didn't just happen. It was something we had decided to do. We were bored.

'Let's scare someone,' Fisher said.

Then he passed. Vulnerable with his glasses and sticky out ears he became our first victim.

'Hey Dumbo,' Stark yelled. 'Got a light?'

He didn't answer, but that only excited us. We caught up with him and pushed Kit onto his path. Something happened as he tried to hurry past. Something inside us began to stir as we sensed his fear. We stood around him for what must have been a minute just staring as his eyes darted from face to face.

We laughed as we let him pass. Yes, we let him. It felt good to know his fate was in our control.

'C'mon,' Fisher said after. 'Let's get back to the swings.' But it was to late to go back and be what we were.

We were not so lenient on our next victim. He must have been about nineteen. He lit a cigarette as he passed the park.

'We want your fags,' Kit ordered.

He didn't argue. Some of us looked mean. Others were big for their age. We fought over his fags as he sped away.

We hit the town shops kicking over bargain baskets, throwing empty coke cans. People were wary. They looked at us with what we assumed was respect. In the gang we were secure. Together we were loud. Initimidating. Nobody could stop us.

'Him,' Fisher said nodding towards the park gate. It was the signal.

He was a man. Small and wiry he was about thirty. Clutching the hand of a three-year-old girl he was an easy target.

'He probably has money for ice cream,' somebody sneered.

Kit yelled as we made our way onto his path. 'We want some money, Mister.'

Fisher poked him and the girl began to cry.

'Well you're not having any,' the man jeered. He picked up the little girl and pushed his way through our shocked faces.

Fisher went red. 'Get him!'

In a few seconds the man was on the ground. Screams of 'daddy,' mingled with the scuffling sounds of feet as they pushed their way in to kick at his curled body.

'Stop it!'

But we ignored the muffled cries.

We didn't stop until he finished yelling. Except for the sound of the little girl sobbing it was quiet as we left the park.

'Will he be alright?' I asked later.

Nobody answered. Some of them sniggered or lit up their fags. Others stayed quiet. My stomach churned whenever I thought about the screams and looked at the spot of blood that had dried on my trainer. I felt disgust and fear as I looked at their faces. I began to wonder why a gang of girls would do such a thing.