train of thought series short story just sophie scratch and sniff
'It's The Small Things' Series,  Train of Thought

Scratch and Sniff | ‘It’s The Small Things’ Series

Welcome to an instalment of my first short story series. ‘It’s The Small Things’ is a short story series featuring the running topic of death. This series shows the importance of decisions in our lives and portrays how one decision (a small thing) can cause our end. This series may be upsetting and/or graphic and may not be suitable for those easily upset.

‘”Spider, come on. You don’t need to do this.” Silvia pleaded, grasping Darren’s arm and pulling him back, with fail. “Please don’t do this.”

“No,” he shouted, dismissing her grip. “I need to do this. I have to. He deserves it, the lying bastard. He could’ve got me killed, do you even understand that?”

Darren yanked his arm from Silvia’s grasp without looking back. He left, leaving her stood alone on the path, and stepped into the mouth of the alley. He cursed beneath his breath when he caught the sound of the quick dainty taps of Silvia’s heels against the concrete, gaining on him.

“Go away. You’re not involved,” he snapped.

Silvia grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back to safety. Darren turned aggressively, his face gaining uncomfortable closeness to Silvia’s.

“Ice grassed me, Sil. Do you even know what that means? I didn’t do it. I didn’t steal Marcello’s stash, okay? How messed up is that? Marcello could have finished me.”

“But he didn’t. If Ice catches you then he will. Marcello believes you. I believe you, Spider. “

“That’s not the point,” he spat back. “Why would I steal it? Why? Seven new customers I’ve had. Seven. In four days. That’s fucking impressive. I don’t need no stealing from no-one. He needs to pay Sil and his beauty will be just the mark.”

“Just leave it, let it go. He’ll come after you, you know he will. She’s his precious.”

A sly smile found it’s way across Darren’s face.

“Yeah you’re right, she is his precious. It’s going to be a real shame. A real fucking shame,” Darren shoved Silvia to the ground with force. “Go back,” he ordered, staring down at Silvia with no hint of regret in his eyes.

He left her alone.

After minutes of walking further into the dark blanket of the alley, Darren reached his destination. Shining through the blackness, the blue Lamborghini Gallardo stood, proud. Darren paused for a moment and admired the beauty before him. Not a single dent, scratch or fleck of dust on her skin. He reached into his tracksuit pocket and pulled the key from inside. He twiroled it through his fingers before allowing it to rest between his right thumb and index finger. Gripping the key at waist height, he checked left and right, squinting into the dark.

All clear.

“Time to shine, Dazzaman,” he muttered before putting himself to work.

Darren cringed back against the sound of the key raking against the metal and his face scrunched in distaste. Finishing the letter ‘C’ and ‘U’, he moved swiftly onto forming the ‘N’. Minute blue sprinkings of paint dusted the concrete with each carving.

A blow struck hard from behind. The impact on his skull crashed Darren to his knees. His head pounded, sharp intense pains shooting from the back of his skull. The red puddle collating directly beneath his hovering body rippled as droplets progressively dripped from his beaten scalp. Darren opened his eyes, dazed, to witness a crowbar swinging menacingly, tainting his mind. Beads of blood continued to weep from the imminent end.

The bar vanished.

A second blow sent Darren crashing into his own blood, his mouth open. Breaths became hard to intake, his lungs desperately trying to find oxygen. The liquid gushed inside his mouth and the taste of copper engulfed his taste buds causing him to splutter and lose what little oxygen had found its way into his lungs. Gasps came quickly but weakly and without much hope. Small bright lights danced around his vision and continued to spin the darkness around him. Without a single word, his attacker brought his arms high and swiftly down for the final blow.

Blackness.

This is an original piece written and authored by Sophie Lloyd and is intended to be only published on this site (JustSophie) and no other publication without prior permission. Do not use, copy or publish this piece without prior permission. This piece is under copyright. If you wish to discuss publication of this piece, please use my contact page or work with me page. Thank you.

2018 © JustSophie (Sophie Lloyd)

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