The Final Cut
The wind is colder at night, the streets are darker. I walk down the road, absentmindedly kicking an empty crisp packet. It seems to me that there are some nights when the wolves remain silent and only the moon howls.
I face dead forward, I don't look back, you have to look confident around here, no-one will respect you if you don't. I carry on walking, casually throwing my hood over my head when it begins to rain, and boy is it raining! The showers gloss over the paving stones making them shine, raindrops trickling down the lampposts and into my eyes. I carry on walking, I'm not sure where I'm going but I've got nothing better to do.
Just as my mind begins to wander I hear a yell from behind. I whip my head round and see the shadows of two figures, maybe three. The sight captures my interest, so I slip behind a tree, keeping my eyes trained on the three people.
'Give it to me' says the tallest, a skinhead dressed in baggy jeans and an FCUK t-shirt. The boy he has in a headlock is squealing, also a skinhead though much smaller (and oddly fatter)
'Piss off and let me go!' he replies, his face turning blue. It's hard to believe that neither of them nor the retarded looking boy jeering behind them has spotted me.
'I said give it to me, or I ain't joking, you'll be sorry!'
The smaller of the two quite unpredictably begins to swear and aimlessly throws punches at the older boy, who seems unfazed by this. I am still hiding behind the tree; I wonder what to do, should I walk away? Or help this boy? I decide to wait a little longer to see what happens.
The larger boy loosens the headlock, the smaller crashes to the floor gasping for breath. The idiot in the background carries on his jeering.
The oldest has his hand in his pocket; I think he's holding something, something shiny. I also have my hand in my pocket holding a similar object. He takes his hand out gripping exactly what I thought he was.
The little boy gasps and begins to quiver, as do I. The metal gleams as it's raised to the skies, my eyes widen, he's not actually going to......is he? The object comes crashing down, breaking the skin on the little boys arm. I'm so shocked I can't even move, even the attacker can't seem to believe what just happened, he begins to back away and moves his head left to right, finding an escape route.
The boy meanwhile is clutching his arm, blood freely flowing mixing with the rain. My fists tighten as I slowly emerge from behind the tree. The two older lads stare at me and the stupid one starts saying something about the Police and prison, but the other just keeps on staring.
I decide in a flash. I'm not known for being very quick witted, but this just isn't fair. My sweaty palms reach deep into the folds of my hoodie pocket. I take out mine, almost exactly the same as his. All three boys looked shocked, two also looked shocked. I begin to edge forward to the biggest, arm outstretched, and the blade almost touching his face. I raise my arm. The boy is staring again bewildered and rooted to the spot.
Should I? Or shouldn't I?
But now it's too late.