Twelve

Jenna Tovey was a powerful woman. I’d never met her before that day, and I’ve never seen her since, but on that day, in the moment that I met her, she was holding her own destiny quite firmly by the balls, with her dainty little hands.

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Eleven

My next attack was easy. A guy, a fucking idiot, was parked up at the side of a winding country lane up above Huddersfield. It may have been Kirkheaton, or Kirkburton – I’m not sure of the area – but he sat there looking down at his mobile phone as cars crept cautiously around him and into a blind bend, into the path of oncoming traffic.

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Ten

Police are appealing for witnesses after a 21 year old Leeds woman was attacked in her car last Monday evening on Westerton Road, Tingley.

The victim, who was returning from an evening visiting friends in York, was approached after pulling in to the Tesco Express car park at approximately 8:45pm. Her attacker used a hammer to smash the driver’s side window on her blue Toyota Starlet, before using the same weapon to strike the victim four times around the head, face, and neck. The victim, who suffered a broken jaw, fractured eye socket, and fractured cheekbone in the vicious attack, described her attacker as male, white, of medium height and build, and wearing dark clothing with a distinctive bright pink balaclava covering his face.

Local police have not issued a formal statement, but officers dealing with the case have commented that the attack appeared to be targeted despite no obvious motive. Unofficial sources have told us that this may have been a road rage attack, as it’s suggested the attacker leaned into the vehicle following the attack and broke off the cars indicator stalk, before being heard to repeatedly ask the victim “What is this for?  What is this for?”.

The victim remains in hospital in a stable condition, but has been warned that she may permanently lose sight in her left eye due to internal collapse. Witnesses are being urged to contact West Yorkshire Police.

I threw the newspaper onto the filthy desk, piled up with old greasy spark plugs and car logbooks, then drew a deep breath and sat back in my chair, surveying the scrap yard as the wind pushed leaves and crisp packets backwards and forwards.

“Frank!” I shouted.

“Can I knock off early?”

Eight

After two hours sat watching cars fly past me on the A64, I was getting bored. Bored, twitchy, and drunk. Bored, twitchy, drunk, and hungry. I was also getting frustrated because the heavy rain meant that I couldn’t see much. As the sunlight further declined, so did my ability to watch the traffic. Cars, vans and lorries became indistinguishable; their hulking metal bodies reduced to brightly shining lights which roared past in the dark. Read More

Seven

“We don’t have pickled onion sir. Will cider vinegar and sea salt be okay for you?”

“Aye, no worries,” I said, projecting my voice so as to be heard from the little stockroom behind the bar.

The short, rotund barman reappeared and placed the crisps on the bar. He waddled like an old man, legs buckled and hips knackered from years of carrying around his big sack of lard. He even looked like an old man with his hip-dad-caught-in-the-nineties centre parting, plastered down to his sweaty forehead, and his wanky little round Victorian glasses which did nothing for the shape of his big, fat, bulbous head. It was his skin that gave it away though; he had lovely, smooth, peachy skin. I reckoned this lad to be no more than twenty-five years old, evolved into someone with an older man’s clothing and mannerisms due to years spent behind a quiet bar, in a quiet village where nothing ever happened, surrounded by old cunts with old sheepdogs and old floppy wives.

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Six

“Steady Gav! Careful! Careful! That’s it… that’s it Gav. Left a bit. Bit more. Careful… aaaaaand STOP!”.

“Cheers Terry”, I shouted as I turned the key to stop the engine, my house key and He-Man keyring still present and intact. Read More

Five

“INDICATE! INDICATE! Fuckin’ I swear Gav the drivers round ‘ere are gettin’ worse. Arf or ’em ant even got proper licences. Fuckin’ Indians an’ that. Taxi drivers fuckin’ ten or ’em sharing t’same fuckin’ licence. I swear down Gav.”

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Four

“DICKHEAD.”

“Wh… wut?” I struggled to focus my eyes as I awoke from my slumber. I’d been laying with my back against the front door, a protruding UPVC lip jutting painfully into my lower back. Between my legs, still upright and unspilled, was the remaining half of the vodka I’d bought earlier, my fingers still clasped around its neck. I moved to sit up straight on the step and was struck with a quick, sharp pain in my chest, then a thunk as a set of keys fell into my lap.

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Three

FOUR LITRES OF COCA-COLA PER DAY, PHILIP.

THAT’S AMAZING SANDRA, AND AT WHAT POINT DID YOU REALISE THAT THIS HABIT NEEDED TO CHANGE?

I FOUND OUT MY ‘USBAND HAD BEEN HAVIN’ AN AFFAIR, PHILIP. HE SAID… [CRYING NOISES]

YOU’RE BEING VERY BRAVE SANDRA. CAN WE GET HER SOME TISSUES PLEASE? GO ON.

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