Fiction: Trouble by Ian Copestick

Brit Grit, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Ian Copestick, punk, Punk Noir Magazine, The Clash

Photo0042It was my partly own fault, if I hadn’t been so drunk I , at least, might have noticed the gang of teenage lads that were slowly surrounding me.

I saw about four of them walk quickly past me, but I was too busy trying to remember all of the words to ” City of the Dead ” by The Clash and sing them to myself.
It was when they turned around and blocked my path. That’s when I realised I may have been in trouble. When I heard the footsteps and sneering voices behind me, that’s when I KNEW I was in trouble. Serious trouble.

There’s something about being surrounded by a group of lads that want to seriously hurt you.

It clears the mind like nothing else.

I wouldn’t say that I suddenly felt sober, it’s stranger than that. Things suddenly felt hyper- real, that’s the only way I can describe it. In that split second before it all kicked off, I could see, feel and hear everything.

I could see the shadows on the road. The black silhouette with a diffuse orange aura.
I could feel the cold air on my cheeks, I could taste the air as it went in and out of my lungs, my cigarette burning in my hand, the overpowering smell of deodorant spray coming from the lads. What is it with teenage lads and deodorant ? They must use half a tin each time they leave the house.

Here’s the part of the story where I utilise my martial arts training and batter all seven of them in a matter of seconds.

I wish.

Here’s the part of the story where I get battered, unfortunately I never did any martial arts. I was lucky that someone in a nearby house heard some scuffling  and shouting, came out and threatened to call the police. So I did get a kicking, but not a life threatening one.

I did learn one thing though, no matter how pissed you are, make sure you remember the lyrics to all of the songs of The Clash.