Friday, 16 August 2013

Cops and Robbers

        Hey! I know I've been posting Seasons, but last night I suddenly realised that there's actually a short piece I wrote in my first year of uni which I really liked, and have never shared with you. So since I owe you more than one story, I thought I'd share this now, and then maybe later on or tomorrow, post the next part of Seasons, just because I cannot wait to post this story! 
        I think for this piece, we were told to write the same story from two people's perspectives, so I thought it might be interesting to do both sides of the story as a sort of running commentary. Bare in mind that this flicks back and forth a lot, but it's clearly signposted when it does chop and change, so there shouldn't be too much confusion!
A Cyanide and Happiness comic, found on

        I like words that sound like the noises they’re describing; like tap, bang, swoosh, crash. I only mention this because the front window of the bank opposite me just threw itself across the pavement and into the road as two men jumped through it. They ran in opposite directions first, then one yelled something at the other, which sounded like “Not that way! You pillock” but I could be mistaken; I was eating a sandwich at the time. It was the fatter of the two who ran the wrong way, it was so cliché. I felt like I’d fallen through a TV screen into some stereotypical ‘cops and robbers’ comedy, I really expected an overweight cop to run around the corner, coffee in one hand, doughnut in the other, chasing behind the criminals with no chance of catching them. But I’m getting ahead of myself.                                                                                                                      
        ‘Sorry, boss!’ he shouted to me, I wouldn’t mind, but this was a bigger job than usual, and I’d told him a million times not to screw it up. To be honest with you, I feel sorry for him, he’s had a crappy life so far, and this is about the only thing that makes him smile. I’m not saying what we do is right, but if he feels like he’s got friends through it, then let us. He joined me, and we ran towards where the car was supposed to be. Unfortunately, however, it was not there.                                                                                                                                                   
      I can’t say I wasn’t confused by what I was seeing; I’d witnessed two men jump through a bank window, whom I presumed to be professional crooks, however they seemed to be perplexed by what I later understood to be the absence of a get-away car. Though, at the time, they seemed to be pondering the way that streets just stretch out into oblivion, where their ends seep into fog, or hills, or perhaps they never end and lead to the edge of time. I mean, how often do we actually walk to the end of a street?                                                                                                                                                A moment later, a car screeched around the corner at the other end of the street, in the direction which the fatter man had initially gone, they looked at each other, shocked; the smaller of the two looking somewhat reproachful. They reminded me of Horace and Jasper from 101 Dalmatians. I could see a man in the front seat, accompanied by two scantily clad women, one in the front, one falling about in the back after apparently omitting to don a seat belt.                                                                                                                                                                   
       I couldn’t believe the cheek of the guy: saying he’d pick us up from the other corner, then showing up late with two birds in the car. If either of them touched the bags, they’d get it. And so would he. Pink Floyd was playing through the car - an odd move for him, he always said they were ‘too weird, they’re like, trippy.’ Which is pretty rich, coming from a stoner like Chuck

       One thing which did strike me, as I was standing there, still eating my sandwich, taking the occasional sip of Fanta, was that they didn’t have any bags, which one would expect to see accompanying a pair of robbers. I finished my drink and tossed it into the bin to my left. Did you know Fanta was created in Germany during the war to drink instead of Coca Cola? Yeah - really similar substitute.

‘Oh SHIT!’ turn round, turn round, TURN AROUND!’
‘What? Why?’
‘Just turn round! We forgot the bloody bags!’
‘Oh for fu-‘
‘Shut the hell up, Chuck! Just move!’ 

       Just then, the car screeched like foxes fornicating and turned on itself so quickly I was sure it would topple. Evidently, the people on the other side of the street did too; one woman used her handbag and a shield – like that would do anything, and a man literally dived into a shop, startling staff and customers alike. I was close enough to see the expressions of everyone in the car, except the woman sitting in the back who had fallen between the seats when the car turned due to a lack of seatbelt. They all looked as if their lives were flashing before them, as it is often said to in various books, television shows or films. One of the men looked straight at me, and looked as though he wanted to punch me for ever having observed them. The kid driving couldn’t have been much older than sixteen, and looked dopey as hell.

      I looked out of the window, not actually knowing whether I was still looking into the street we’d just been on, or if I could somehow see into heaven now. Although, I have to admit, the outside of a Subway store wasn’t exactly my idea of what heaven should have been. I saw a man on the side of the street watching the car. He was in a shabby grey coat which reached down just below his knees. For how scruffy his coat and hair were, his suit and shoes were surprisingly nice; navy blue pinstripe. I don’t know why I took all of this in, but I’m guessing he could describe me in just as much detail.

        People were starting to pull out mobile phones and I could hear sirens in the distance. I knew what these men looked like, I could easily describe then and pick them out in a line-up. I made split-second decision which involved not wanting to be a witness - based of course on the fact that these guys were too stupid to not be caught - and made my way back into Subway to add some cookies to my already excessive order.

              Let me just say - the formatting on this was horrendous and took far longer than it should have. Anyway, what did you think of this piece? I noticed that my writing style has changed quite a bit, which goes to show how much I've actually learnt over the last couple of years, which is good. I'll be back later on with the next part of Seasons - I've a pretty clear idea where that's going, which is unusual for me!  

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