Well, we all know how Tommy felt about the death of his son. But what about his mum eh? TJR/OC
This is Thinking
This is Flashback-sentences
Slowly, so agonizingly slow.
She watched the time tick by, lonely and probably the only still standing person on the platform where every single soul was moving.
Not even one thought about taking their sweet time to just stand around and enjoy their lives.
The lives they were blessed with, some found their life a hell hole. But they were blessed nonetheless.
The time ticks away ever so slowly on the giant, white clock hanging above all the people that walked by. The ever so annoying voice announcing the delays echoed, making a difference for someone, somewhere. Whether it was an annoyance for them, or a blessing. Grace couldn't even care less. For them, time was either going too slow, too fast, or just at the right pace.
But for her, time stopped. Though the ticking sound continues, it was just a sound. And nothing else. But it had a meaning, that time still went by for everyone else.
Grace looked around.
They didn't know? the blonde started to wonder. They didn't know this at all?
Just one month ago, a boy was killed. His life lost, and his once joyful youth . . . Crushed under the boots of dozens of hooligans. All because of a game. She had cried her eyes empty, for her son. Her little Thomas was brutally robbed from his life. His existence being only a vague memory to most people.
It such a shame that little boy died. . .
Thinking about it made her sick to her stomach, that people whom didn't know him, pretended to care.
Or them West Ham hooligans, whom didn't even pay attention to the pain they've caused.
But maybe, she thought, it was because she never understood it anyway.
Tommy, her husband, he had said it was because she was a woman, them women never understood the fine sport. Football was the most beautiful game on earth, they said, it deserved to be praised in every way it could, they said.
Grace didn't see why they would lead such a life, when they had their family, their friends, their spouses . . .their children?
It was a horrible way of life, but for them it worth living anyway.
Lil' Tommy here will be the new Top boy eh, like his ol' man.
Because of all the praising, the encouraging and all the wrong role models. Thomas sought approval, approval from his father and the lads her hung out with. The destructive life his father led. It was soon to be his way of life.
Soon never came.
Because of a game, a game that ruled their lives. But a it was a game nonetheless.
Do they kill little girls too? she asked bitterly, they killed the people you loved the most for revenge right?
Thomas had a girlfriend. The girl went to the same school, about the same age. She was a plain girl.
Camilla, a mixed girl.
Dutch and Cuban.
Not very smart, not very athletic. Good at dancing, awful singer, though.
But she liked Football. She used to cheer for her team when she lived in Amsterdam, back in the Netherlands.
Ajax, she said.The 'Jew club'.
She too was proud of her Football club, she spoke of it with pride. It didn't matter who you were, where you were from, a supporter was a supporter, and they loved each other regardless.
After all, they had football in common.
Now it was a little understandable, but it was still strange.
Grace always thought she had the most beautiful skin color ever. Unlike the other pale, dirty blonde, blue-eyed girls at Thomas' school. This girl had a caramel colored skin, light brown eyes and pitch black hair.
Nothing out of the ordinary, there were a few more o' those
but Thomas liked her.
Before the scrap, Thomas went on a date with her.
Where to?
Grace didn't know, but as long as they stayed around the center of the city, it was okay.
Camilla, however, found out about the football match. Somehow.
Knowing Tommy Hatcher was a hooligan, she figured there would be a scrap
She confronted Tommy, confused and worried for his life of course.
But Tom, you're only twelve!
he didn't want to talk about it, this annoyed her.
they broke up.
Mean words were exchanged, mostly by Thomas.
But calling her a 'twat', resulted into a sharp smack in the face and a few shed tears. They were angry tears, but they were tears nonetheless.
I'll see you again 'morrow, if you can speak to me with respect that is.
Then there was the -
- the scrap
They had told her, his fist was still balled, as if her were ready to punch somebody.
D'you need anyone to stay 'round?
She said no,
but she did.
Tommy was incapable of anything.
He didn't say a word,
he just sat in his chair all day.
Looking outside, as if he waited for his son to return.
One day, Tommy fell out of his chair, he cried.
Grace tried to console him, but she couldn't.
She knew why he was crying.
It's the lil' chap's birthday. . .
Camilla?
Camilla had never cried so hard in her life. Their last words to each other were just dreadful, she regretted them all.
You stupid twat!
Don't even call me a 'twat' ya bloody cunt!
Camilla sent them her favorite picture of Tommy, with him grinning like the youthful boy he was. The Millwall T-shirt he got for his last birthday, held up proudly and straightened as much as he could to show the world.
Millwall,
they made her sick to her stomach.
Beside his parents, no one ever thought about his death.
Maybe they did, but not every day.
Are you sure you don't need anyone 'round?
They asked her again,
She shook her head 'no'.
She feared for her life, but she would never run.
Because her son didn't either when he had to fight.
He was brave,
and Grace would promised to live in a way that would honor him.
And even though it would be hard -
- it would be worth it nonetheless.
I tried a new writing style.
By the way, if you cut it down to whose fault it is, it's Tommy's fault his son died.
I mean seriously, who the fuck takes his twelve-year-old son to a fucking SCRAP versus the GSE?