written by David Anglin

Daily Creative Writing Practice - He Was A Risk Taker [Short Story]

Daily Creative Writing Practice - He Was A Risk Taker [Short Story]

My daily practice of bringing depth to simple sentences...

He Was A Risk Taker

His thoughts went back to when he was a little mischief maker and how his father's face would often screw up into something resembling a bullfrog as he'd shout in deep patois "you too teef bwoy!" His young dimples would than quickly be reunited with the back of his father's broad plasterer hands in rapid succession of one two. Those days he could have sworn his dad was a secret black belt as the speed his hand would transfer from pocket to backhand would have given even the late Bruce Lee and his famed one-inch punch a run for its money. Unfortunately, his dad's secret skills always seemed to be showcased only to him, though to be fair it was usually after his father telling him to empty his primary school uniform and finding heaps and heaps of colourful sweets that they both knew he never had the money for.
But in his defense, his young mind simply believed Mr Singh had no need for all those sweets. He believed a man of that age with all those sweets would simply develop cavities. Though many like his father would argue that Mr Singh having the sweets for sale in his shop proved he had a use for them. He'd reply to his father its something to consider. His father would usually demonstrate more advanced Bruce Lee affiliated moves after the slick chat back.
But like in most cases like his. As he sat there with a bloody nose and his hands tied like he was in some depraved bondage film. He couldn't help but think that maybe his father had been right all those years ago.

You see his problem was that he liked really nice things. Like really nice things. He honestly believed that he should be woken up to the scent of buttery lobster followed by champagne while slipping his feet into furry Hermes slippers while overlooking a sparkling sunrise over the Thames section of the Royal Arsenal Docks. It was a high maintenance lifestyle, one which required risks, and he'd always considered himself to be a risk taker. Like when his father had first visited him in jail for driving from the showroom in a brand new Porsche Cayenne Turbo. That he felt he didn't need to pay for. His father had said " a wha dis? You no fraid bwoy?"
His reply of "mans a risk taker!" Had the prison guards rushing as they restrained his father from trying to cut him another box with the back of his hand.

But again looking at his current situation as he looked into the dark eyes of two goons, it made him get the feeling. No, a eureka moment. That maybe he should cut down on his risk-taking. Just a little bit.

Slyo, he heard one of the guys call to him. "We're not playing about with you, where's the box?" The short guy with a number 2 box fade, and puppy fat cheeks said in a stern voice. His attire of all black only added to his menacing aura.



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He replied " listen chubby, your way to little to be talking to me like that, no one under 5ft 7 can talk to me with so much base in their voice. In fact, you need to lose it!"
"You what!"
Chubby cheeks furious reply showed that maybe he could have chosen a more carefully worded reply. But call him ignorant, he just didn't care. In his world, no one under 5ft 8 or under 12 stones could have the cheek to talk to him like that.
But the fury of punches chubby cheeks gave him. Added with his shorter accomplice burning him with the glowing end of a cigarette. Again had him thinking that maybe he should be a little more respectful to all inhabitants of the world.
"Arghhhh!" he cried out in pain. "Look I told you, short motherfuckers, I don't know what box you're on about. I'm not even a robber."
He lied. He really was the type to rob. He'd rob the gold tooth from your grandma's mouth while helping her cross the busy street. All with the biggest smile planted on his face.

"Stop playing with us you cunt!" The other friend who looked of Turkish descent with longish black hair and a face that seemed like it needed a good nights rest. Took out a long knife that he could see himself being impaled on. Just like in the film Passion of Christ. His mind always made the sickest of jokes in the worst of times. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with the constant fear he felt from his ever increasing risk-taking.

"Whoa. Whoa whoa. That's a long knife short man" he couldn't control himself. His father always did tell him that he was way too impulsive and excitable. He blamed having too many skittles full of sugar as a youngster. About taste the rainbow. How about taste ADHD.

"What are you taking the piss." The frustration, shock and not believing the cheek this tied up guy was dishing out. Was all too apparent in the voice of the young Turkish man.

He knew that maybe he was pushing things too far, but after years of getting belt licks from his father, he'd become an extremely tough cookie. Though you'd never imagine it from his handsome butter won't melt in his mouth exterior. Also being on the roads as long as he had, he'd quickly learned who would really harm you, and those who just wanted to scare you. He had these two down as scaremongers. And lastly and most importantly there was no way he was giving up the box when he knew he could get around £20 to 30K for moving it. Coke was a hella of a drug, that brought a hella a needy people. He'd be damned if he'd give this up to some punks. Short punks as well. He'd made up his mind and like the typical Englishman decided to keep a stiff upper lip. He would not be forced or intimated to talk.

But... like most things in life, there was always some form of dramatic twist. A defining moment when smooth seas turn drastically bad from the incoming of a raging storm.
As he watched the door to the dingy room in the middle of god knows where open. He saw a storm with huge shoulders step in. He saw the ever intense features of the ever intense YO. He knew the story to his real-time film had just stepped up in intensity. The plot drastically changed for the worse. And strangely enough for some reason, he felt an urge to give up the box. It didn't now look quite as appealing as it had just seconds before.
Maybe this risk-taking lifestyle isn't all its cracked up to be he thought. As YO walked towards him, a shroud of menacing aura filled the room...

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Words and Art. Art and words. My stories will make you laugh, will make you cry. Provoke anger, cause distress. But most importantly my tales will get you thinking in hopes of bringing around real change...?

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