Friday, 28 August 2015

Bloody Hell

Frankie looked down the road before him. It was soaked with rain, and soggy newspapers. Right at the end of the road stood a straight line of bobbies, riot shields at the ready.

So far, he'd distanced himself from the violence that had plagued the city, however, now he'd had enough of the excessive force used by Her Majesty's Police Force. He reached into his pocket and produced a small lighter. With it, he lit the oily rag that was stuck into the bottle and chucked it down the road towards the police. People scattered as the ignited liquid spread out before the policemen. 

One brave soul, standing around five foot nine, wearing a leather jacket and light jeans, kicked out at the riot shield closest to him. The policeman braced himself against the kick but still took a step back. He was shaken by the violence and pushed against the extended leg of the lad.

The boy felt a strong forearm wrap around his neck from behind. Then a hand lock around the wrist and tightened the grip. 'You little shit' a voice said 'think you're big and clever do you? I'll break your neck you little twat.'

Frankie saw this, annoyed, and ran over to the scuffle. He swung at the aggressors head, hitting him at the bad of the skull. Just hard enough for him to release his grip. He fell to one knee, holding the back of his head.

They pounced on him like lions. Punching and kicking at the policeman laying before them. Savages, at best. Once the dust had settled, the protestors disbanded, the officers helped their wounded comrade. Dragging him behind the line of shields.

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