The Ocean by Faye Young (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📖

Cold air rushed past his ears and neck. The brutal winter had finally come, yet he wouldn’t complain, he’d stick it through, do his job and get on with life. Even if that life wasn’t what he’d wanted.

The buildings towered above him left and right, yet the wind still managed to creep its way into the centre of London, blowing this way and that, down the allies, through the back streets and coming to a full blown storm down Oxford Street. His usual customer sat in the doorstep of an unimportant shop, hood up, cap on, his trainers sparkling white, the aluminous purple Adidas sign shining. The figure with the shoes in the doorway stood up, he was big. In comparison to his dealer he was massive. His head hung slightly, keeping from hitting the pillar above him. As the dealer got closer, he nodded his head in a jolty motion.

‘Cool. What you got for me?’ The tall boy questioned moving slowly towards his dealer, he pulled his hood and hat off leaving them hanging at his back, stroking his shaven head and shivering he held out his hand. A small bag was dropped into the open palm,

‘Peng,’ The dealer replied, a smile appearing on his lips, ‘got it just for you.’ he lied shaking the boys hand and puling him in for a hug. ‘I got to breeze, but bless, yea?’ he lied again turning slowly back around and leaving the figure in the doorway.

Life - not the life he wanted. Shane rubbed his hands over his face pushing down on his temples. It was dark, yet the lights of the continuous traffic lit up the large road. He wanted to be anywhere except there, in the centre of London - making his living from dealing. His normal rout home would have taken him up back allies, past a couple of broken down pubs and houses, up the staircase with graffiti plastering the walls and into his flat. That night however he didn’t want to walk that way, in fact he didn’t want to go home to his smelly, mouldy, smoke filled alcoholic inhabitant flat at all. You could hear the people two floors down having sex for Christ’s sake.

The houses were huge, white, black picket fenced, four floors, and detached. Alone, no one else could invade their privacy, and Shane could have betted that the owners didn’t live of benefits and down a bottle of jinn every couple of hours. He stood at the black gate, looking up towards the big oak door imagining his life there.

He would awake in the morning to the smell of tea and toast being made, a smile already on his face. He’d jump out of bed and leap down the stairs, kissing his mother on the cheek as she butters his toast, ‘what would I do without you!’ He’d sigh, she’d laugh. His tie would be on and his suit pristine. Work that day would not involve being out until god know’s what time in the morning dropping off for a man who could easily stab you, or worse.

‘Hey!’

Shane woke from his fantasy, the cheesy smile and tilted head retreating, and fast, he began to run away from the white house with black picket fencing, the bag on his back dug in. As he turned his head get one last glimp’s at the life he was never born in to, a girl stood there, pyjamas on, and a book held in her hands; she looked nice. He turned back and continued to run.

Rubbing his hands on his head and pressing harder on the temples and eyes, Shane awoke, still tired. He threw off his slightly damp covers, and looked over at his brothers bed. He wasn’t in, he was never in. Lifting himself from bed he staggered to the bathroom, the door was locked and water was flooding onto the landing. He banged loudly on the door,

‘Shut up! Stop that racket!’ A heavy gruffled voice shouted from the room directly behind him, Shane knocked again louder on the bathroom door, ‘I said shut the…’

‘Mums locked herself in the bathroom again!’ Shane shouted angrily back, turning to face his dads bedroom door and knock loudly on that one instead. Before his dad had time to get up, Shane went back to his room, pulling out a pair of jogging bottoms and a hoody. Two doors down, his nana lived alone, she never minded a visit from her grandson.

‘Nana?’ Shane talked to the light blue door, knocking lightly. Moments later the door slowly opened and a pair of eyes peered through the small gap made by the pensioner.

‘Who is it?’ She asked wearily peering her head round the door, enough to see her greying hair and walking stick.

‘Nana, I told you, don’t open you door without the latch on.’ Shane laughed pushing the door open a little more and kissing his Gran on the cheek, ‘Can I use your shower again?’ The old woman began retreating from the door hitting her grandson around the ankles with her stick,

‘No ones getting through this door lad, I’m to quick,’ with that she poked Shane in the stomach making him keel over, ‘Oh! Oh!’ She began to fluster, but a quick smirk from the young lads face taught her that he was fine, ‘You…!’

He laughed again pulling the frail woman to his side where she barely came up to his shoulders,

‘What about that shower nana?’

That night was the same, Shane wondered the streets, his little bag on his back containing even smaller bags inside, he’d do his job, get his money, do his job, get his money, do his job, get his money, and then do his job again. The repetition of the streets and people around him, was frustrating. Each boy, man, kid, hoody, tracksuit, trainers, ’Cool,’ ’Safe,’ ’What’s it saying?’ Yet each night he’d end with the tall boy in the shop doorway.

‘Do you get fed up Tee?’ Shane sighed to the tall boy that evening. They were sat in the unimportant shop doorway, passing the spliff to and throw.

‘Nahh,’ smoke escaped his lips leaving a heavy smog in the doorway, ’nahh,’ he repeated handing it back to Shane.

‘Nahh, me either.’ Shane replied sighing and looking down at his drug, taking another couple of tokes. As he handed it back to Tee a black polo was rolling slowly up beside them, the already busy road became busier as police car sirens blinded the street with their blaring noise and flashing lights. Shane swore, threw down the spliff and pulled the bag tightly onto his back. The black car continued to drive slowly up to Shane and Tee in the unimportant shop window,

‘What are they doing? Do they want to get us noticed,’ Tee exclaimed, wondering if he should stash his weed down the side of the shop, surely the police wouldn’t be after him? Shane stopped moving and stared at the black polo, he recognised that car. Then it hit, it was his brothers mates and he could bet his brother was in it and the police were after them. Thanks to the traffic holding the police up Shane had time to jog up to his brother and knock on the car window,

‘What do you think your doing Jack? What the…’

‘Shut up and get in,’ his brother shouted through the window back at him, you couldn’t see Jack’s face but Shane could picture it; thin, bags under his eyes, stubble around his chin and short dark brown hair, yet nothing prepared the younger brother for the look in Jacks eyes.

Once in the car Shane realised the seriousness of the situation, they were all drunk, the smell of Jack Daniel’s and smoke laid heavily in the air. There was only one thing that was sober. He was small, blond, innocent and around the age of thirteen. Shane pointed to the boy speechless,

‘What?’

Jack looked around from the front passenger seat, and there was that look. The, ‘I’m in rouble Shane and I need you to do something for me,’ look. His eyes had a deeper rim of purple around them, the whites of his eyes could barely be seen and Shane could have almost seen a blood vessel pop. Please don’t let this be about the little boy. Please don’t let it be about him.

The sirens continued to blare in the background but Shane couldn’t hear them. The polo continued swaying to and throw through the busy traffic, almost hitting a business man and his girlfriend walking across the traffic lights. The streets were packed with families, couples and groups making they way home from the west end performances, yet the black car didn’t take notice of them, continuing on their escape from the police. Shane sat in the back squished between the young boy and a drunken friend of Jacks, listening intently and petrified at what his brother was asking him to do.

‘Shane, you’re my brother, you gotta do this. I need you bruv more than ever,’ he repeated in his drunken, drug related stupor, ‘He was there at the wrong time, if he says anything I’m locked up blud.’ The young boy began to cry, the sound of his pain and worry tearing through Shane’s heart, one look at the terrified kid and Shane could have cried himself. What did his brother expect him to do about it? ’Shane, your ready.’

With that, the younger brother knew what his sibling meant, his initiation had began.

‘Jack, I cant do this.’

‘What do you mean you cant do this?’

‘I cant do it, man.’

‘Bruv, your gunna do it.’

‘No.’

‘Yea, other wise your be the one going down for the death of the prick I stabbed, your be the sorry twat who gets bummed in prison. You will do it.’ Shane knew his brother wasn’t lying, he was known to have done it before, frame someone else for his wrong doings. Shane nodded once, looking back down at his hands,

‘Give me that booda,’ he shouted at the youth sat next to him, sparking as he spoke. He took two sharp draws and looked back to his brother, ‘what do you want me to do?’

The black polo escaped the police, and Shane walked back home alone wondering how he was in this mess. Tonight was nothing he had expected, his brother had killed someone and Shane didn’t even want to know what for. Yet he was the one being forced into taking an innocent young life away, for what - to keep a sick man out of prison, keeping a murdering scum from the pen. Shane was livid, frustrated, fed up, tired. But most of all terrified. He again, didn’t want to go home that night, he would rather go back to the black gate and think things through.

As the gate approached and the inner city dimmed and only a few cars slowly left their pollution behind, he leaned against the fence, his head in his hands. If he ran, the boy would be left to die for sure, Jack wouldn’t let him go, one of his boys would do it. Stab him to