I wasn't just aiming at stone. I was aiming at the world. We stole a car dustcap and I fired it from my catapult just before nine, when the square was full. The crack sounded like a gunshot. The clock shattered. A woman screamed. Days later, a 22-year-old woman reported being grabbed nearby at the exact same time. A local man with a record was arrested. I stayed silent while the town stitched my crime onto his body. He went to prison for something he didn't do. His family left. His name became poison. Twenty years later the patched hole still stares down beside the nine, and so does the truth ' only I am the one who sees it.