Point Of View

Point Of View

Introduction

I guess I could tell you the typical story of a kid who didn’t fit in; I guess I could blatantly point out the obvious facts about teenage life and how society eats our brains? I figured, that’s boring and not interesting.

I’m William, I’m seventeen years old, I work in a crappy fast food chain that fails to pay me, I gave up my love for music and now I’m in college with no friends, no idea what to do with my life and I guess I’m scared.

I have many views on how things should or shouldn’t be, I hate the things that people love, I love the things people cannot stand. One thing that really gets to me is how everything we hear, see or read is false information, information that’s been twisted and cut to the bone so quickly it tells us what to do in life.

I mean, they are only doing their jobs, but since when was giving news to an audience all about terror and manipulating the viewer? Who said “I know, let’s terrify our people, that’s going to make them listen to us.”

It’s terrible; we all have equal rights, equal opportunities to be who the hell we want to be, just because some kid in a classroom listens to heavy metal, wears black clothes and make-up whiter than Dracula doesn’t mean they don’t deserve anything from life, same with the people who wear tracksuits or people who just don’t value themselves, I think if media backed off, we’d live in a society that isn’t scared, we’d live in a world where every murder would be shocking.

War would be non-existent – sadly, these are all just fucking dreams of a kid in the back of a media lesson learning about a school shooting that happened in America a couple of years back.

But what if it happened? What if the media backed off and let us live without the fear of being attacked on the streets? What if the only wars in life were putting on those stupid new skinny jeans you brought that didn’t quite understand the width of your thighs.

This is my Point Of View.

Chapter 1 the End of What We Knew

“Get your arse down here boy,” My father shouted.

Today was the day that everything changed, wars would come to a halt, global warming would stop being an excuse and people learn how to actually communicate without the use of a mobile phone in their hands.

I’m William, I’m seventeen, I have a fair amount of blonde hair and I’m around 6 feet tall. I mainly listen to music, design things or go out and get drunk with my mates, fairly standard life, nothing exciting.

My dad was a very concerned man, he had been worrying about this day since it got announced a few months back, ironically, on everything that is coming to a halt for 2 weeks like the internet, TV and radio.

The government state that these 2 weeks will help society grow and be a better place, that is until it all resumes back to normal and everyone complains about how bored they have been on Facebook and Twitter.

At first, this broadcast didn’t mean anything to me, until I overheard them say that anything goes, everything is going away and you are free to do whatever. Now in a normal mind, that should instantly spark the idea of having the biggest fucking party this countries seen, doing anything you want? Sounds great, until you realise that no one can protect you and it’s essentially a huge free for all for 2 weeks, the government don’t care.

I live with my older brother and younger sister, my dad visits occasionally and my Mum now lives in London so I don’t see her much, my parents are great, my brother is a pain in the arse, but my 15 year old sister?

She’s called Shannon, when she was born my Mum and Dad split up, so she hasn’t really had the same experience as me and my older brother have had whilst growing up, for her, this was the best idea ever and she was basically intended on spending the whole time doing drugs and whatever else she did, she worried me a lot, she was almost the complete opposite of my mum who had fantastic grades and now works for the biggest companies in the world.

Shannon has different views on life, she sees this as an opportunity to get uncontrollably sick and risk her own life doing it, she doesn’t listen either, she doesn’t understand the risks.

The idea of having this closure of everything seems amazing, but the risk will only grow right? Surely everyone would be doing everything they aren’t supposed to, but they didn’t read the small print, this was all a test, a test of human nature.

I love conspiracies; I felt that something wasn’t quite right here.

“What’s this about? Who the hell decided this would be a good idea? Why is it happening now when we’re just coming off the back of an economical crisis?”

These were questions my Dad would ask himself, me or anyone around. It was clear to see that this wasn’t particularly the comfiest of ideas the government had put forward.

What they didn’t broadcast was the most interesting thing in my eyes, there was an article online a few weeks back showing a leaked document which clearly reads ‘STAGED EVENT 1 – SHOCK, STAGED EVENT 2 – HORROR, STAGED EVENT 3 – PEACE.’

I knew something wasn’t right, but it was happening anyway, tonight at midnight, the closure would begin.

This is going to be hell.

Chapter 2 The Foxes tail

I came from a small town in Yorkshire; everyone knew everyone else and all of their business, no secrets.

Finding space to yourself was difficult without the eyes of the village following your every move.

I found myself more and more often drawn to an old church on the edge of the village.

It was small, abandoned and smelt like an old folk’s home. The outside was covered in a thin blanket of emerald ivy that seemed to be squeezing the life out of the old building. I loved it there – I could read, meet friends, listen to music, all without the rest of the village reporting back to my Dad.

The closure of everything would essentially ruin that place for me, it was somewhere I could get away and somewhere I could just escape for an hour or two a day. I don’t see why this is even happening, why take someone’s freedom?

When midnight hit, so did the cries and the panic, I’ve never seen something like this before in my life, people locked themselves in their houses, I heard screams, gunshots and various car alarms all in the space of five minutes.

This wasn’t exactly paradise, more like a Hollywood blockbuster.

The once peaceful town had turned into mass destruction, my brother and I locked ourselves in, we had no protection other than some blunt kitchen knives which were splattered in blood for some odd reason.

We hadn’t heard from Shannon in around 3 hours now, we were worried for her safety, we found some phone numbers on her bedroom desk, her room smelt of perfume and hairspray and there was some of her clothes on the floor, we carried on exploring her room and we found what looked to be suicide notes, it became clear that the knives we found on the kitchen side were used for cutting her wrists, our sister was depressed, she was trying to escape reality.

“Today I woke up and hated my size, the wounds on my wrists are widening and my head is fucked, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry Mum, I’m sorry for not being like you, this is too much for me.”

This was repeated on all 4 notes, why was she so worried? Why can’t she speak to us?

My older brother read out the number; on the piece of paper it just said “Ring for acid, text for coke”.

We were well aware of Shannon’s drug use, on top of this, the knives, the perfume and the smell of hairspray made us think more about what she was getting up to.

This sparked worry, the town was getting more and more dangerous and Shannon was probably somewhere tripping balls with some guy in the middle of nowhere.

We unlocked the door, dressed in all black with knives that carried our sisters’ blood in our pockets. Protection is the only thing on our minds, I jumped through the lounge window of our home through the outside, I barricaded the door with an old wooden chair and a brand new glass table that our Mum had brought us. With Dad now getting on his flight to Koi Samui in Thailand, he had escaped the British Lockdown with about 15 minutes to go, we were happy he was safe, we had to find Shannon and bring her home, we wanted to know why she was feeling the way she is, but we were prepared for the worst, we were certain that if we went now, there is a chance of Shannon still being alive.

There was a street that went behind the old church, this was a common place for the pricks in tracksuits to take young girls and destroy their innocence, this street was named Beckett Lane, it was a 5 minute walk if we picked up pace.

We approached Beckett Street, it smelt of weed and the glass bottles on the floor made it hard for us to not make a noise, there was one dim streetlight that hung over the cobbles, It made it difficult to pick out distinguishing features on the faces, there was a group of around 10 teens crowding around a body on the floor.

Something didn’t seem right here, these weren’t the normal people you’d see at this time of night; we approached them with caution, our hands clutching the knives in our coat pockets in case things went sour.

We looked at the body, the long brown hair was messy, the dress was covered in blood and the face was white, it was then my brother cried, I looked at him with slight confusion, I stepped closer and it came to me, this was Mum.

The suitcase was emptied on the floor, the group of people didn’t say anything, they stood in silence, the cobbles on this road felt like ice on my hands, I couldn’t express any other emotion than anger and rage, I shouted “Who the fuck did this? Did anyone of you see? What the fuck are you doing standing here, get someone!”

It dawned to me as I shouted that no one could do anything, this was a free for all, no one had a second chance now, this was a piss take, someone had killed my mum and her own children couldn’t do anything about it. It began to rain, the rain drops ran down my face like false tears, I picked Mum up and moved her to the side of the road whilst someone got help and her makeup was already running down her dead face, her lipstick was messy.

Maybe she was trying to tell us something; maybe she was coming to stay or give us advice, or take us with her on her Business class flight to Denver.

She had nothing on her, no phone or money.

An elderly woman called Mrs Richardson came to us, she was a family friend, she told me that my mum called her earlier today to let her know that she’s coming round as it has been nearly 10 months since any of us had seen her, she wanted to see Dillon especially, my older brother.

Mrs Richardson and Dillon went inside to her bungalow with my mother’s body in their hands, Dillon gave me his knife and said “Find Shaz, come back here, you have one hour”.

I clutched onto the fence that ran along the side of a garden, my hands and knees were soaked in water, I put my hands in my pockets and walked to the subway station.

As I got closer, again the smell of drugs intruded my nose. I then found something which mortified me. It was a crumbled up letter.

I picked up a letter and a purse, the purse was empty, however the envelope which had writing that looked like it was written in blood - it read “Shannon”.

The idea of freedom is a thought that will never escape our mind. It’s a thought that will never seem achievable; it’s a thought that can make a mad man seem intelligent.

The reason this short story exists is because people don’t realise obvious things. People don’t understand the difference between reality and a dream.

Media can tell you whatever you want, it can be so misleading, just because they said it will be okay, doesn’t mean anything, it means nothing in the real world.

I have an idea for another story simply called “Shannon.”

Don’t be mislead by false information, we all have rights, this thought of freedom is a myth, but if it ever happens, be aware that events like this will happen to thousands, if not millions of families.

In fact, the scary thing is, it does. This happens every single day, the loss of a loved one due to no one taking notice, or someone being told false information.

Do we ever hear about every one of these events? No.

We hear about the worst, why the worst? They want to scare you and make you worried.

We all have different ways of interpretation; we all have different Point Of Views.

Thanks for reading.

Arran Morton

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