Michael Robertson: Crash

“If I’ve learned anything about this new world,” Dean said, “it’s that we need to stick together. We need to show them who’s boss.”

Staring forwards, George ground his jaw. “I didn’t ask for your help. Don’t do anything on my behalf.” There was no fucking way Dean was getting him in his pocket. No way.

Looking like he was preparing a counterargument, Dean opened his mouth to reply but stopped when the man behind shouted, “You’re a fucking arsehole.”

Looking at the angry man in the crowd, George’s entire frame sagged. How could he help him if the stupid prick didn’t help himself? Popping his door open, he looked across at Dean. “I’ll go and talk to him.”

But Dean didn’t reply. Lost behind a glazed look, the lunatic had gone to that place that George never wanted to visit. The glimpses he got of it were more than enough.

Swallowing the sticky saliva in his ever-drying mouth, George shook his head. “They’re just kids, Dean. Why don’t we leave them and move on?”

Whether he heard George or not was hard to tell. What was perfectly clear was that he didn’t reply. After he lifted the hammer from the passenger seat, he opened his door, a flash of clarity returning to his distant eyes. “Here we go again, George. It looks like it’s party time.”

Dread as thick as tar crawled over George’s skin, smothering him as he watched Dean walk towards the group. Whistling Jingle Bells, he moved with a skip in his step like he was off to fix a bent nail.

Once Dean was out of earshot, Ravi leant in and whispered, “We’ve got to get away from that cunt as soon as possible.”

The stink of the boy’s aftershave kicked George in the face. Clamping his nose, George remained silent.

“Remind me, George, why did your sister marry him?”

Keeping his eyes on the lunatic in his mirror, all George could offer was a weak shrug.

Crash II: Highrise Hell — Available now:

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New Reality: Truth — Available now:

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For more work by Michael Robertson, please visit his website at — www.michaelrobertson.co.uk

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Michael Robertson has been a writer for many years and has had poetry and short stories published, most notably with HarperCollins. He first discovered his desire to write as a skinny weed-smoking seventeen-year-old badman who thought he could spit bars over drum and bass. Fortunately, that venture never left his best mate’s bedroom and only a few people had to endure his musical embarrassment. He hasn’t so much as looked at a microphone since. What the experience taught him was that he liked to write. So that’s what he did.

After sending poetry to countless publications and receiving MANY rejection letters, he uttered the words, “That’s it, I give up.” The very next day, his first acceptance letter arrived in the post. He saw it as a sign that he would find his way in the world as a writer.

Over a decade and a half later, he now has a young family to inspire him and has decided to follow his joy with every ounce of his being. With the support of his amazing partner, Amy, he’s managed to find the time to take the first step of what promises to be an incredible journey. Love, hope, and the need to eat get him out of bed every morning to spend a precious few hours pursuing his purpose.

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© 2013 Michael Robertson

Crash is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, situations, and all dialogue are entirely a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not in any way representative of real people, places or things.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.