Short Story Competition #6 Winning Entry

Written by Jonathan Waltho
Witney
Oxfordshire

JUST DO IT
“Just Do It!”
Tyson closed his eyes and thrust the blade deep into the stomach of the youth.
“Sweet, man. You’s a man now…” TJ whooped and slapped Tyson on the back.
“Now, let’s go”
Tyson caught the eyes of the boy on the ground. He didn’t look mean anymore. Just a scared kid about to die. White trash.
Tyson looked around. His boys were ecstatic. High on the fight. High on the victory. No-one messes with the Manor Road Crew. Elsewhere, Tyson could see other people going about their business – trying not to get involved. He could see one blonde girl excitedly talking on a mobile phone.
“Don’t dream of calling the rozzers if you know what’s best for you. You understand me, right?”
The girl nodded and moved away into the shadows.
Tyson heard sirens somewhere in the distance. Time to go. It was his first kill and hadn’t been half as bad as he’d expected. Easy. He was a man now. No-one would push him around. No white boy would call him names.
The gang sprinted down the high street – past clubs and late night shops. They almost ran in formation – they were invincible. This was their town. They owned it. When the sirens started to fade, they ducked down an alley.
What to do now. The euphoria of the kill and the chase was wearing off. The Arcades?
“I could do with a burger”
“Sure, why not. And Tyson’s buying. Did you see how he gutted that piece of shit?
The boys hugged Tyson – TJ grabbed Tyson’s hand and held it aloft.
Later, Tyson was home. His Mum had been drinking. He stayed in his room. His brother was asleep opposite. Tyson took off his jacket. There was some blood but not too much. He shoved the jacked into a holdall under the bed with the knife. He’d cleaned that in the bogs in MaccyDs. This was all so easy. Tyson tried to figure out what was wrong. He was a hero. The boys loved him. The police didn’t care so he wasn’t worried about that. They didn’t understand what life was like on the streets anyway. He was just looking out for himself. Protecting himself and his family. He had to be tooled up to survive. That said, he wasn’t expecting the look of fear in the boy’s eyes. It was OK when they’d been fighting. Then he’d seen contempt and the guy had deserved it. Now it didn’t make as much sense.
His mobile vibrated. Text from TJ:
“get out police on way”
Tyson panicked. His brother was waking up.
“Go back to sleep!”
Tyson grabbed his holdall, left the bedroom, pushed passed his mother and left the flat. He ran along the balcony. He could see police cars in the car park below.
He jumped down the stairs and ran towards the alley on the way to town. He could get lost there. As he reached the alley, he stopped. One of the white boys was there. A big lad with a shaved head.
“Time to die nigger”.
Tyson turned. Behind him he could see the uniforms closing in and in front of him was certain death.
The boy struck Tyson in the face and Tyson went to ground. He closed his eyes as the kicks and punches flew in.
Then as his head raced, he begged to lose consciousness.
Sweet, man.

-end-
© Jonathan Waltho 2007

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