Man's Worst Enemy is Man

It's 2020 in London, UK. Crime levels are at record highs, jobs are non-existent and benefits are a distant memory. The working classes are rebelling and something has got to give. This tale chronicles the struggles of a mentally disturbed boy trapped in a twisted city as world war 3 swiftly approaches....


2. All Alone!


I rose from the floor, thoughts of terror ringing in my mind like church bells. As I stood, I realised I was saturated in my own sweat. I can’t remember how long I’d been on the floor before rising, but I didn’t pass out – the constant throbbing pain in my head told me that. What I do recall is laying there shaking, my bones vibrating with anguish. I’d been in a psychotic frenzy, half of me disbelieving what I had just done, the other enjoying and savouring every passing second of my ordeal. Now I had woken from my dark slumber, the sickening reality of my actions attacked me like a rabid bear.
I walked across the grotty room and set eyes on Joey’s corpse, his face and lips blue. I looked down at his dead greying stubbly face feeling no guilt or remorse.  If anything I felt pride, he deserved the vile death I’d handed to him. When I replayed the event in my head, the sudden sight of Mum’s dead body pulled me back to reality. The tears started to fall and pangs of loss began to pound inside my chest. Then another thought crept into my head like a dastardly ghost – what would I do with the bodies?
I’d seen a fair few crime investigation programmes in my time, but I hadn’t a clue how to dispose of two corpses. I had just committed a murder; my DNA would be all over the place. I acted completely out of instinct not sparing a thought for sentencing or incarceration.
The thought bounced around my head for a few minutes before clicking into place – I had to burn down the house. It was the only sensible option and Joey wouldn’t have minded, he wanted to be cremated anyway.

After settling myself, I went upstairs, showered and changed my clothes which were covered in Joey’s blood. Unfortunately I only owned one pair of shoes, so my trainers would have to bear the crimson stains until I could acquire another pair. I then took one last tour around the grimy dwelling where I had spent the last two years before reaching to the top of the cupboard where the matches lay.

I searched high and low for a suitable flammable liquid and found some lighter fuel. I checked Joey’s corpse for money, and the lousy rat didn’t have a brass bean on him. I walked over to my Mum’s corpse, leaned down, closed her eyes and kissed her forehead one last time. I then soaked Joey’s body in lighter fuel and dropped a lit match. I exited the house as it ignited with a whoosh!
Tears cascaded down my face as I looked on at my mother’s make-shift grave. The thought of such an ignoble send-off for my mum upset me. Sadly it was the only way to cover my tracks.


The police would pay this home-made cremation no attention; arson was a nightly occurrence on the streets of London. For the past few years the city had become completely lawless! The twenty-first century had always been brutal, but in recent times England’s capital and cities all around the UK had fallen victim to riots, joblessness, murders and nonstop destruction. The working classes were fighting back, thus causing the Government to tighten its belt. Benefits were stopped, redundancies were forced, and the Prime Minister had taken extremely harsh actions by imprisoning children who committed any felony, and giving every police officer across the UK a firearm, no matter what rank. It was a vicious circle; as the establishment grew braver, the rebels became more battle-hardened, the end result being some areas were off limits to the law. Luckily for me, one of those deadly places was the estate where I lived.

I walked the streets, it was 12 am and the sky was black. The war-torn buildings were a terrible sight to behold; it was a perfect picture of the chaos which consumed the city and country by night. The streets of the capital which were once awash with fashion stores and fancy coffee shops, where a business man would once indulge on a pastry and overly sweet latte had now disappeared. Smashed windows and disintegrating bricks were all that remained. If the buildings had voices, aching groans would be heard all over. London was little more than a portrait of depression.

The year was 2020 and I was a lonely eleven-year-old left black-hearted by circumstances. As I paced the concrete roads, tears still fell and I vomited until the lining of my stomach had ceased. I was cold with nowhere to go. I did have remaining family members, but they were drug-addled cretins too or estranged from me. They only cared for themselves and only reared their ugly heads when we occasionally came into a crop of crooked money, as we did from time to time. They’d have a shock the next time they went round on the scrounge and found nothing but a pile rubble where our flat used to be.
All my family were criminals at one time; as I said, daddy dearest was a dealer and gangster, his father before him was a con-artist and forger. The rest of my father’s biological siblings were petty thieves and addicts. On my mother’s side, the whole family were close; however they consisted of casual villains, shop lifters, fighters and the odd arsonist with an occasional GBH charge. Just petty stuff really. I had always been shown love and care until Joey arrived. Before that the odd bit of skulduggery was seen as good sport... after all, every family has a little drama of some kind.     

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