(Here I shall post random short stories, which will vary in size. I have a load of Ideas in my head and I feel it best to let them run free. Some pieces of work may be just an extract of what could be a full story and in some I may ramble on a bit, but all these short stories are just ideas that pop into my head and I feel like writing down. I plan to finish each idea in one post, as though not turn it into something big. Though if I get another idea that is connected to a previous post I shall link them in my writing. Please note that everything I post in here is of my own creation and is all my work. Please enjoy and thank you for reading.)
Time Tracks
Water splashed as his foot came down hard against the pavement, a puddle of water sitting across the surface. He shouldn’t have done that, it was very stupid of him, so stupid it had him running for his life. He could already hear the whizzing of tires behind him and the cussing of words, they were gaining fast and soon Billy Bob Reyner and his friends would give him the worst beating yet. He had to make an escape manoeuvre so pulled right sharply heading down a back alley, hoping the rain soaked roads may cause his pursuers to crash, but that was wishful thinking as he could hear them still following as he took another right down a different part of the alley. He then took a left, running across a road, ignoring the honks of angry drivers, past some dustbins and into another back alley. All was fine until he took another right turn, maybe he had been running to fast, maybe the pitter-patter of rain hitting his skull had distracted him, he saw the two turnings, left and right, but it didn’t register quick enough and he ran, passed the exits, straight into the little alcove and crashing into a wall. He had put his arms out and allowed them to retract back into his body, taking away most of the impact but not all and he was still slightly hurt. From behind him the bicycles could be heard and he knew, even before he turned around, that it was too late to run for an exit. He watched as fives came screeching to a halt in front of him, amazed that they all fit down the alleys. There was an assortment of colours, but Billy Bob Reyner’s bright red frame stuck out the most, screaming danger! Each member of the group, or gang as they called themselves, had a triumphant smile on their face, all except Billy, who looked so filled up with rage it seemed he was about ready to burst.
There was a dark bruise forming around Billy’s left eye, where he had been punched not too long ago, it was that punch that had caused all the commotion, of course Billy was in the wrong first, but it was still a stupid thing to do. As Billy laid the bicycle down, took a step closer to his victim, rolled his shoulders back, clenched his fists and raised a hand ready to strike, twelve year old Clayton Matthews couldn’t help but think that these were going to be his last thoughts. In that moment, the calm before the storm, he wanted everything to stop, he wished he could stay in that miniscule time before the brutality…and somebody listened. Clay’s eyes, that had been clenched shut waiting for an impact that never came, peeled open to behold the most marvellous site, even though he did not know it yet. Rain hung in the air mid-fall, breath stayed half-breathed and in front of Clay’s face was Billy’s fist, as still as a rock, one which he wanted so badly to crumble. It was very weird, as though someone had pressed the pause button on life, and in the midst of it all Clayton realised he had stumbled across something magnificent. Clay knew it was best to leave now rather than wait around, things like this were always unpredictable, so he crouched, out of the way of Billy’s fist, and was preparing to sprint away when something caught his eye. In Billy’s pocket were two five pound notes that he’d stolen from Clayton, the reason why Clay had given Billy the black eye in the first place, Clay plucked them from Billy’s pocket carefully, as though not to wake a sleeping beast. Clayton was yet again readying to leave when he noticed a bulge in Billy’s pocket, his wallet. Clay’s hand crept inside Billy’s jeans and he pulled loose the brown leather wallet, the frozen Billy not taking any notice, and inside he found fifty quid’s worth of notes, Clay, feeling it was only fair to dish out some of Billy’s own medicine, took the lot and sprinted from the scene. That was the first time it happened.
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