David Anderson's Blog - Posts Tagged "violent"
An Incident on the Metro
Four of them came up to me on the Metro - the northeast's local train service - and started giving me trouble. Two males and two females in their late teens, early twenties. I'd had the audacity to ask them to tone down their raucous language. There was no one else in the carriage.
'Who the fuck are you talking to?' A tracksuit wearing thug. He wore a cocked NY cap, had pasty skin and dark circles beneath his eyes.
'Yeah, shut your fucking mouth, dickhead!' His burly friend, shaved head, vacant face full of acne.
'Fucking nobhead! Do him in! Go on, do him in!' One of the females, hate contorting her features into the mask of an ancient hag.
'Yeah, fuck him up, McKenzie, the fucking cunt.' The last member of the group, nicotine-yellowed teeth, hair pulled back into a painfully tight ponytail, tattoo on her neck.
McKenzie. I was in no doubt this was his Christian name. What do parents think these days? You're more likely to meet an Armani, Gucci or Pepsi than a Michael, David or Christopher. The youth of today have become walking advertisements with their ridiculous monikers.
McKenzie, the cap wearer, stepped forward, getting right up in my face. He threw foul taunts my way, calling me all the names under the sun: cunt, twat, paedo. These cowardly, feral creatures only strike when they easily outnumber their chosen victim or spot a group they identify as weaker than themselves. They obviously saw me as the baby fawn lingering at the back of the herd. They were in for a surprise if they thought they could push me around.
The lead chav - that's what we call them up here, you might have a different name for them, but if you think of an unpleasant delinquent you won't be far wrong - raised his hand to push me but I struck first. None of the group had noticed my hand slip to my pocket as McKenzie squared up to me. I whipped my clenched fist from my pocket and lodged my house key deep into the soft flesh of McKenzie's neck.
McKenzie instinctively attempted to slap my hand away but his swipes had no real power. His eyes widened almost comically. I began to hack the key through his flesh in a right to left sawing motion.
The key cut through the soft flesh with surprising ease, ripping open a ragged, bloody smile in McKenzie's throat. Hot spurts of blood gushed out of the wound in powerful geysers as I severed his carotid artery; as it snapped it gave a satisfying twang like a plucked guitar string. The hot stickiness that covered my face and clothing made me simultaneously want to scream at the top of my lungs and laugh hysterically. Blood stained the train window an opaque crimson. My arm down to the elbow was tacky with blood.
McKenzie's struggles diminished rapidly. His cap, precariously perched to begin with, spilled off his head and landed in the pooling blood at his feet; it sucked up the crimson like a parched sponge. Soon all of his fight had gone. He slumped forward and hit the floor with a wet slap. I watched as his tracksuit turned from white to red, like litmus paper dipped into a caustic acid.
I turned my attention back to McKenzie's friends. They'd watched his death knell without uttering a sound or moving an inch. Their contempt for me had been replaced by utter disbelief. The remaining lad had been nothing more than a gormless bully to start with and was now merely a frightened gormless bully. I looked to the two girls willing them to give me an opportunity to teach them a lesson, too. They were the real catalysts here. Moments earlier they were jeering, heckling, threatening. The real ringleaders, thinking because they were female (term used lightly) they could incite violence with impunity. I begged for an opportunity to prove them wrong. But now they had fallen dumbstruck and terrified. They cowered behind the big daft lad, their eyes bulging in terror, their poisonous tongues silent. The transformation in them had been a drastic one. I almost went for them anyway, but I managed to restrain myself.
The Metro began to slow as it reached its next stop. The train screeched to a halt, the warning buzzer sounded and the doors slid open.
'You pond life scum,' I muttered menacingly, barely audible. 'Get off this train, before you end up like him.'
They went willingly, skirting the ever increasing pool of blood forming around McKenzie's body as if it would be death to touch it. Their wide eyes never once left mine as they shuffled like a chain gang to the exit. They stepped off the train and continued to stare at me, mouths agape, from the platform. The buzzer sounded again and as the doors slid shut I expected some pitiful remark or retort, as is customary from their ilk when they believe they're safely out of harm's way. But they just stared at me in shocked silence.
The train slowly began to pull away. It gained speed and I watched as they shrank away into the distance. When I could no longer see them I turned around and looked down at the prone body, at the spreading blood that looked as black as oil.
I returned to my seat and waited for the police.
'Who the fuck are you talking to?' A tracksuit wearing thug. He wore a cocked NY cap, had pasty skin and dark circles beneath his eyes.
'Yeah, shut your fucking mouth, dickhead!' His burly friend, shaved head, vacant face full of acne.
'Fucking nobhead! Do him in! Go on, do him in!' One of the females, hate contorting her features into the mask of an ancient hag.
'Yeah, fuck him up, McKenzie, the fucking cunt.' The last member of the group, nicotine-yellowed teeth, hair pulled back into a painfully tight ponytail, tattoo on her neck.
McKenzie. I was in no doubt this was his Christian name. What do parents think these days? You're more likely to meet an Armani, Gucci or Pepsi than a Michael, David or Christopher. The youth of today have become walking advertisements with their ridiculous monikers.
McKenzie, the cap wearer, stepped forward, getting right up in my face. He threw foul taunts my way, calling me all the names under the sun: cunt, twat, paedo. These cowardly, feral creatures only strike when they easily outnumber their chosen victim or spot a group they identify as weaker than themselves. They obviously saw me as the baby fawn lingering at the back of the herd. They were in for a surprise if they thought they could push me around.
The lead chav - that's what we call them up here, you might have a different name for them, but if you think of an unpleasant delinquent you won't be far wrong - raised his hand to push me but I struck first. None of the group had noticed my hand slip to my pocket as McKenzie squared up to me. I whipped my clenched fist from my pocket and lodged my house key deep into the soft flesh of McKenzie's neck.
McKenzie instinctively attempted to slap my hand away but his swipes had no real power. His eyes widened almost comically. I began to hack the key through his flesh in a right to left sawing motion.
The key cut through the soft flesh with surprising ease, ripping open a ragged, bloody smile in McKenzie's throat. Hot spurts of blood gushed out of the wound in powerful geysers as I severed his carotid artery; as it snapped it gave a satisfying twang like a plucked guitar string. The hot stickiness that covered my face and clothing made me simultaneously want to scream at the top of my lungs and laugh hysterically. Blood stained the train window an opaque crimson. My arm down to the elbow was tacky with blood.
McKenzie's struggles diminished rapidly. His cap, precariously perched to begin with, spilled off his head and landed in the pooling blood at his feet; it sucked up the crimson like a parched sponge. Soon all of his fight had gone. He slumped forward and hit the floor with a wet slap. I watched as his tracksuit turned from white to red, like litmus paper dipped into a caustic acid.
I turned my attention back to McKenzie's friends. They'd watched his death knell without uttering a sound or moving an inch. Their contempt for me had been replaced by utter disbelief. The remaining lad had been nothing more than a gormless bully to start with and was now merely a frightened gormless bully. I looked to the two girls willing them to give me an opportunity to teach them a lesson, too. They were the real catalysts here. Moments earlier they were jeering, heckling, threatening. The real ringleaders, thinking because they were female (term used lightly) they could incite violence with impunity. I begged for an opportunity to prove them wrong. But now they had fallen dumbstruck and terrified. They cowered behind the big daft lad, their eyes bulging in terror, their poisonous tongues silent. The transformation in them had been a drastic one. I almost went for them anyway, but I managed to restrain myself.
The Metro began to slow as it reached its next stop. The train screeched to a halt, the warning buzzer sounded and the doors slid open.
'You pond life scum,' I muttered menacingly, barely audible. 'Get off this train, before you end up like him.'
They went willingly, skirting the ever increasing pool of blood forming around McKenzie's body as if it would be death to touch it. Their wide eyes never once left mine as they shuffled like a chain gang to the exit. They stepped off the train and continued to stare at me, mouths agape, from the platform. The buzzer sounded again and as the doors slid shut I expected some pitiful remark or retort, as is customary from their ilk when they believe they're safely out of harm's way. But they just stared at me in shocked silence.
The train slowly began to pull away. It gained speed and I watched as they shrank away into the distance. When I could no longer see them I turned around and looked down at the prone body, at the spreading blood that looked as black as oil.
I returned to my seat and waited for the police.
