Silas Jones: The Gang Fight

12

Silas Jones wandered aimlessly through the backways of ipswich for hours. He would have run into people as they woke up at 11 o'clock, but somehow he had managed to find the deserted slums of ipswich. Graffiti covered every available space. It was so thick in some places that you could cut down to concrete underneath, carve out a square and use it as bullet proof armour. This area was the birthplace of legends and myths. Unbeknownst to Silas, the intricately sprayed patters, signs and symbols were in fact a medley of assorted gang signs and tags. The graffiti in the slums of ipswich wasn't done for fun. No, it was a matter of life and death. The savages living in dark corners and inside stormwater drains and sewers, who make up these primal gangs, made their own paint. They used food colouring and blood, mixed it into a bottle and used a weed kill sprayer with custom nozzles to paint the area. The silence oppressed Silas so much, he wasn't used to going without shouting for more than a few minutes. It was so quiet he could actually hear his own footfalls on the cracked jumble of bricks and stones that made up the road. As he came to a T intersection in the road he was on, he had two choices. One was a right turn, leading into a long, narrow alleyway. At the other end he was barely able to make out the green of grass, evidently a park. If he turned right however, it would take him on a wider road, however the road ended in another intersection. Not sure of which one to take, Silas Jones sat down with a plop. His feet hurt from walking all morning anyways, so he figured right here would be just as good a place as any for a nap. Taking of his shirt and pants, He neatly folded them. Laying back against the wall covered in paint, in only his singlet and second pair of pants, he drifted slowly asleep.

A cold sharp jab in the ribs awoke Silas from his rest. "CALM DOWN MATE, IT'S ONLY ME YOUR LOCAL BOGAN!" he shouted while he tried to open his eyes. He hoped whoever poked him would recognise that as a fellow bogan (he was after all in Ipswich) he meant no harm. However as his eyes burst open, he realised he had no such luck. Looking around at the snarls and grimaces written on the feral children surrounding him, he knew he was out of luck. These weren't classy enough to be bogans, they probably didn't even know what the local greeting was. Feebly he tried, just in case. Slowly, non threateningly he raised his middle finger. However the gang of assorted children seemed not to understand, because they shrieked and backed away, clutching their weapons. Silas gulped a loud gulp. Not a gulp of fear or nervousness however. No, this was a gulp to say that he had something stuck in his throat. Suddenly he burst out coughing and spluttering. A chicken bone from last night's partying flew out and struck one of the growling children in the chest. With a yelp, he or she (Silas couldn't tell, they all looked the same) lept back and scuttled into the gloom of dusk. "IS IT NIGHT TIME ALREADY? JEEPERS CREEPERS! YOU KNOW KIDS, THIS PLACE IS DANGEROUS AT NIGHT, YOU SHOULD PROBABLY GO CHECK IF YOUR MATE IS ALRIGHT." Then raising his voice louder, if that was possible, he bellowed "DIDN'T MEAN TO SPIT THAT AT YOU MATE!" then turning on his heel, he left the bewildered street urchins to goggle at his receding back. While he was sleeping he'd decided he would turn right, so right he went.

As the yellow eyes that populate Ipswich at night began to pop up, Silas hurried to reach the end of the narrow alley. Suddenly, the dim light at the end was blocked off by a shadowy form.

Grunt grunt. Pant pant. Wheeze wheeze. "OH SUGAR HONEY LEMON LIME AND BITTERS THAT SOUND LIKE A PIG. I NEED TO BE QUIE-" suddenly Silas' face dawned with comprehension. He shouldn't have shouted. The pig's shadowy form swung round. The yellow eyes gleamed beadily as they stared SIlas down. Billows of steam rose as the pig pawed the ground. Suddenly, man and beast had the same idea, at the same moment. They both ran. However, because Silas was actually facing the pig, he was running straight for it. Now i'm not 100% sure what happens when 300 odd kilograms of raging pig collide with 90 kilos of stupid man. However, I suppose we'll find out in chapter 13.