Darkness

Synopsis: An alcoholic mother, a murdered father, a hopeless situation with no end. Is this what he was destined for? To end up dead, shot in a park trying to provide for himself? He had no one.

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Finally, the night arrived. He jumped out of his bedroom window. An inch of snow rested on the concrete peacefully before the thick rubber soles of his worn boots imprinted themselves beneath his feet as he landed. He exhaled sharply; his breath fogging the air in front of him. He rubbed his gloved hands together. The felt didn’t do much to insulate them from the cold, but he was still grateful that he had a pair. He raised his hands up to the grey hood behind his neck, lifting it and allowing it to weigh down on his brown scruffy hair. It was long, and his fringe lay in front of the hood covering his forehead. It didn’t cover his blue eyes: the moonlight illuminated them. With his ears now protected, he turned back and looked at the dump he called a home before he left. This couldn’t be everything his life would be, he thought. He needed more, wanted more, deserved more. His mother sat, passed out on the sofa. Another whisky bottle finished, another awaited her the next day. She had set it down beside her leg. She would be ready to start where she had left off in the morning.

The package was stowed away safely in his pocket. He dug his hand deep within his hoodie and wrapped his fingers around it allowing his hand an extra second of warmth before gripping the cold handle bars of his black bike. He had purposely painted it that. It was better to stay discrete in this kind of neighbourhood. Before he left, he slipped his phone out of his pocket. The time read 23:52. It was almost midnight. It was time to focus on the delivery. The money would be very good. Think about the money. He repeated it over and over in his head like a mantra. His mother certainly was not bringing any money home. He could feel tears beginning to blur his vision. Unsure whether it was because of the cold air opposing his face as he rode into it, or just the hopelessness of his situation. It didn’t matter. Think about the money. It was useless to cry. He was a survivor, he always had been. The drop off was within walking distance now. His fingers on the left handle bar squeezed the brakes on the back tyre, easing his bike to a standstill. He lifted his right leg up and over the seat, wheeled his bike to a nearby brick wall and walked into the park with his hands buried deep into the pockets of his hood, level with his waist. He kept his eyes open. There should have been a man already waiting.

He was there, just as he had anticipated. His tense shoulders began to relax but the tension returned almost instantly. As he approached the man over the small mound, he realised what the small hill had hidden. First a gun with a hand behind it, then a black sleeve following up towards his shoulder. The gun pointed at the man with his money. This was someone else. His mind raced through all the possibilities. Who was he? He wasn’t supposed to be here. Every step he took revealed more and more features behind the gun. His hood was up. It was too dark to make out the face of the man. He wore denim jeans that stretched over his ankles covering the top of his shoes. However, the tick on the sides of them was unmistakeable, even in the dead of night. He couldn’t leave now. He needed the money. Before he knew it, the gun was now being pointed at him. He felt his heart thumping in his chest. He slowly removed his hands from the pocket of his hood as he exhaled slowly. The cold latched onto them immediately expending any heat left within. He raised them above his head, as he had been instructed. The two men exchanged words. The details of the conversation were lost to him. He hadn’t said a word. This wasn’t supposed to happen. An alcoholic mother, a murdered father, a hopeless situation with no end. Is this what he was destined for? To end up dead, shot in a park, trying to provide for himself. He had no one. Alone since birth. A rage began to fizzle inside of him. He wasn’t sad like he had been earlier; now he was angry. The words came to his mind like a spark. He knew what he was going to do but he had to wait; be patient. The hooded gunman was an erratic man looking for a quick cash in. Even in the dark he could see the gun shaking in his hand. It was the hand of a drug addict. The gunman’s steps stuttered across the thin layer of snow impatiently. Even though it was the dead of night, the thick soles of his worn construction boots never allowed any silence to settle.

“There’s only one reason two people meet in this park at this time in this neighbourhood. Hand it over. NOW!” the hooded gunman’s final word echoed through the park but not for long. The icy wind took the echo within its grasp and dissipated it. A momentary silence before the stuttering gunman’s footsteps broke it once again. The gunman was nervous. Realizing now was the perfect opportunity, he finally spoke, “Look mate you’re shaking and not cause of the cold. You’ve got a gun and we’re all ten metres apart. No one’s gonna disarm you, are they? Just lower it alright. Look, I’m gonna reach into my pocket slowly and take out what you want. This is it, isn’t it?”. He slowly eased the package out of his pocket. “You want it, fine”. Both pairs of eyes were glued to him. His voice attracted their attention like a magnet. “Leave a park swarming with cameras with a pack of drugs. Better yet shoot both of us and then rob us. You’ll go to jail for possession and murder. Look you need a tenner for dinner? Here. Take this, it’s all I got. He slowly eased a ten-pound note out of his pocket and held it between his thumb and index finger up in front of his face; presenting it to the gunman. “Just don’t be stupid and ruin all our lives. You live here just like I do so I know you ain’t living any better than me. Just go mate. Our lives are already fucked, no point making it worse. And to be honest if you’re going to shoot, make sure you don’t miss cause living in this shithole, my life honestly can’t get much worse. You want your life to get worse? Then sure drugs are all yours, but we know what we’re doing which is why we don’t get caught. Jittery guy like you? Police will be banging your door down tomorrow before the sun sets. Do yourself a favour, take the tenner and make sure you keep that gun inside your pocket when you leave through the alleyway. There’s cameras all over. At this point I don’t really care what happens to me. You leave with the tenner I’m offering, shoot us both and take the drugs or just leave with nothing. I really don’t care. I’m tired, tired of this place and tired of this shit. You better make your mind up quick, otherwise we’ll all freeze to death”, he paused, the wind whistling around them. Lowering his hands to his side from behind his head he asked the gunman with finality, “So, what’s it going to be?”