Economic Break: Short Story of mine, called The Turning Point

The Turning Point

The metal froze my hands. It was a lot heavier than I imagined. I felt a million times more powerful than I did a few seconds ago. Using this weapon I controlled the world. I decided who lived. And who didn't. The firearm was pitch black and pocket sized. I couldn't believe it, I have been fantasying about this moment all my life. My heart was pumping like a machine as my hands wrapped around it. My eyes were bewildered as they refused to look away from the delicate piece of art. From the reflection on the car bonnet I could recognize the birth of a smile on Don's dark repulsive face behind me. All those who knew him knew this was a very rare event.

"You make sure you take care of that" Don ordered in his usual low tedious tone. I knew him to well to know not to answer back. That would only anger him. The animal stood 6 feet 5 with broad long shoulders with the characteristics of a monster. He was always in a bad frame of mind and had a very, very short temper. His face was small and had disproportional eyes which acted like surveillance cameras. He had the appearance of a professional body builder which disturbed the public and his many enemies. He had muscles on every part of his body, with no traces of fat or weakness. Don was the leader of the notorious Gorilla gang; which protected the interest of black people in Manchester from the racists. He was a big brother to all the new members. Like me.

Losing patience Don ushered me to the exit of the car park. I was puzzled on where to put the gun so I put it under my trousers just as they did in the films. The gun was a few centimetres away from my right testicle. We trailed down the bitter road with its derelict shops evidence of the poverty in south London caused by the recession. We continued walking in a dangerous silence careful not to leak any information to any people passing by. Each and every one seemed fairly smart in their expensive suits and shiny shoes which reflected the light from the street lamps. Don and I were easily noticeable as we were clothed in our tarnished school uniform and were pacing in the opposite direction as if we were time travellers. At the end of the road we parted, no words were necessary because Don's wicked brown eyes were self-explanatory. I treaded nervously to my house. With each step my imagination ignited with new ideas on my new potential due to my possession of the GUN! Finally I arrived at my destination and the daily search for my keys began. As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I was in a hurry to get to the security of my room at the top floor. I tried my best to avoid confrontations with my younger siblings and parents.

'Hi rich, how was school today?' my mum quizzed from the top of the staircase as she caught view of me.

"Great" I lied. I gained a record ten negative comments, but my mum would never suspect her precious son of being a class delinquent.

"Why are you two hours late from school?" she questioned in an inquisitive tone.

Sweat trickled down my head despite the fact that it was winter as a result of the unexpected question."I was at the library" I muttered as I helplessly lied again. When I jogged up the stairs past my mum, I couldn't stop visualising the Gun dropping from my waist and falling into my mother’s vision. She’d go ballistic. Finally I was in the safety of my room and without delay locked the door to remove the possibility of someone intruding as I examined the artillery. The gun was perfect and it felt as if it was deliberately crafted for my use. The gun was identical to the pictures/posters on my bedroom walls. I was hypnotized by the precise curves and durability. It was solid and seemed as if it was going to last eternally. The object became best friend. I played with it all evening like a toddler with a teddy bear. It sat beside me on my pillow like a spirit, protecting me as I drifted to sleep.

I woke the next morning to loud knocking on my bedroom door. I froze. Immediately opened my eyes and instantly recognized the gun lying beside me. I was thankful it wasn’t a dream. “Richmond get up for school!” my Dad bellowed from the other side of my door. I breathed a sigh of relief. I quickly shot out of bed like a bullet and put the gun in by backpack.

A few minutes later after my bland breakfast, I was out of the house, with the gun in my thread less backpack. I couldn’t risk leaving it at home. It was so cold; it was at times like this when I wished I was back in Ghana where I belonged. The sun was content on radiating Africa, that’s why I loved it so much. It seemed so long ago since my family fled to Notting Hill after the coup d'état in 1966, but it merely a years ago. I remember when I first saw my estate I thought it was hideous. The old red bricked building was uncomparable with my father’s beautiful parliamentary house in Accra. Anyways the secondary school I half-heartedly went was only a couple streets away from my flat. The school was centuries old and was evident by the aged, wrinkly teachers and it’s unmaintained, cheap structure. It accommodated a predominantly white population no black people, apart from me. It wasn’t long before I went through the corroded red gates of the atrocious place. It was known by most Londoners as Hell but the worn-out yet energetic teachers insisted it called Westminster city school. Almost immediately after entry I was bombarded by people like a popular Politician, like my Dad when we were back in Ghana. Only they wanted me dead. Instead of cameras and flashing lights in my direction, there were empty cans and flying salvia. Instead of them making me feel pleased with myself, they made me feel like the pink gum beneath their expensive kickers. Instead of joyful screams from jubilant souls, there were insults from deep within solid frozen hearts. Instead of smiles on angelic faces, there were satanic frowns on demons like faces. This wasn’t bullying. This was torture. Welcome to my world. I screamed for help from the pits of my body, but remain unheard due to the chants of the entire school.

“Poor man, poor man, poor man!!” I was clearly resented. I strutted in my aged tatty cloths which were too small for me. My trousers ended at my knees and my shirt was unbuttoned because it couldn’t fit around my upper body. My toes were bursting out of my shoes, they were more like slippers than shoes, and they provided no comfort whatsoever. Back in Ghana I had all the nicest, latest cloths if only i could somehow drag them past and show my relics. Only God knew how much I despised my life now. I rushed quickly as I could to the entrance of the institution which was just as chaotic as the playground. Today was going to yet another dreadful day. On top of having double physics and then double biology I had double Maths. I whole heartedly loathed my maths teacher Mr. Wise, to an extent that I wanted to eradicate him. He was just as bad as the students as He constantly insulted my inadequate mathematical skills throughout the lesson.

After biology I was frustrated as I discovered I was graded an “F” for last terms test. Last week I gained the same grade and my Dad went ballistic, the bruises from the event are still visible on my fragile black skin. I just wanted get away from everything and be alone with the gun. So I went straight to the reeking toilets, where I normally spent my lunch times in exile. On my route to the furthest cubicle, I accidently bumped into an enormous year 11 student. Obviously he didn’t think it so, because he started to repeatedly punch me in my stomach and head as if he were a professional boxer. The blows were highly impacting on my skinny body.  I was defenceless.

“Stop............... Please............ Stop.......... Please............... Stop................ Please.”

I begged but the machine was too intent on causing more damage on my brittle bones. I struggled to keep my balance consequently I landed on the filthy floor whilst he towered over me. He looked furious. His saliva landed on my face like rain drops when he spat at me. He then walked off as if nothing had happened. I must have gone into a coma, because I have no recollection after he left. Eternity later I started the effort to try and regain my strength. When I stood up, I caught sight of my face in the broken mirror on the wall. It couldn’t have been uglier. My face had countless bruises with blood trickling from them. In addition to my faults my eyes had swollen too. I didn’t care anymore. I staggered out of the toilet to my maths lesson through the empty corridors.

I walked in five minutes late into the Mr. Wise’s. Expectedly Mr. Wise pointed this out.

“Ahhhh look what the cat dragged in.” The idiot exclaimed through his bright pink lips, as my peers burst into an energetic laugh.”You have a detention “. I was too tired to argue.. aroma was evident as people held their breath as I stumbled pass them and took my lonely seat at the back of the spacious antique classroom. Mr. Wise was strangely tall man with a small head covered with dirty blond hair, a long nose and beady eyes. He had a skinny body which was hidden under the vast amount of layers he wore. Whilst he supposedly taught the class I couldn’t stop thinking about the gun. I was urging to touch its nude body and feel its power again. Irresistibly I gradually reached into my backpack and grabbed the gun, then cautiously transferred it to my ripped blazer pocket. Then I closed my eyes and caressed it, like it was the body of a super model.

“Richmond stop day dreaming this instance. Come up here and show me and the class if you’ve actually learnt anything this year.” Mr. Wise wickedly smiled from one ear to the other like a clown. However I was the reason why the class burst into laughter again. My Heart froze. Everyone’s eyes were on me. I wanted to breathe my last breath that second. “Well come on then” he urged. I slowly stood up and limped to the front of the room like a cripple, I still didn’t have enough time to figure out the solution to the stupid equation. I stood there staring so deep into the white marks; I think I saw its atoms. Behind me I could hear snickers of laughter as I unsuccessfully attempted the question. The questions weren’t like the questions I’d easily do at my boarding school in Ghana.

“You are useless Richmond Odonkor!! USELESS!!” Mr Wise said. The words burned my soul. I began to shake uncontrollably. “You can’t even do that”. The room had fallen silent. Until a white boy in the second row called Mark started the chants. They all joined in one by one. Shouting:

“Loser, loser, loser, loser, loser, loser, loser, loser, loser, loser”. They repeated the words again and again like a scratched CD. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was about to burst. I turned around and watched my enemies all thirty one of them. No one, not even Mr. Wise made an effort to stop the hooligans. He just stood stationary in front of me.

“Stooooooppppp” I screamed at the top of my voice. They didn’t. The next thing I did definitely made them be quiet. I pulled out the firearm. There were gasps from every corner of the room. I was in control. The look on Mr. Wise’s frantic, distraught face was priceless. I lifted the gun to his hideous face. I so wanted to pull the trigger. And watch his brains splatter on everyone. A tear drop trickled from his eyes like a faulty tap. I smiled. For once in my life I was the person laughing.