Playing with fire

This suburban, civil war had gone on long enough. Both enemies knew it was time to unite together or fight against one another. Given the options, the mature, civilised route was a joke to these monsters. They were to fight. The intention to tear each other apart, from tender limb to tender limb, was obvious to both sides; but the young ones were fine with this unspoken agreement. It was the older generation who were suffering with the demolishing tensions arising in their home town. Despite the fact it was just a memory, which felt more distant as time would drag on, there once was a time when the foundations of Lockton relied firmly on synchrony. However now they were tormented with the behaviour of savages, fuelled only by the desire to destruct and claim their territory. This small town was all they had left so a few deaths and multiple injuries where here nor their in comparison to the feeling of brutal satisfaction. Pride was the ultimate accolade, in return for a mans morality.

The year was 1996. It was the grim month of February. The blood baths were over flowing in Lockton City. Business and trade was ill, causing the destruction of jobs, dignity and the town of a community spirit, which was once so strong. The dark sky reluctantly hung over tall grey buildings. All colour had been stripped from this town consequently corrupting Lockton City. This incessant disease spread rapidly sucking the life out of Lockton, puckering up it's lips for the kiss of death. And the culprits with the blood stains printed on their hands were two groups. Both lived in the same town; it wasn't distance which separated them. Both spoke the same language nor was it dialect pulling apart the relations of Lockton. The collapse of their business; the destruction of their families; mens pride being battered. It was this that caused Lockton to plummet. The paramount factor, the influential factor that warped the lives of so many people; bending and twisting it as does a contortionist into disfigured shapes, was the intention to salvage what was left of their home town.

Dan Basset, the front man of his gang who he called 'his bassets.' He had grown up in Lockton and witnessed first hand the deterioration of what he believed as his town. His passion, however full with good intent, was expressed through violence. Basset and his boys didn't believe in control or restraint. Instead they were encouraged only to fight, like the animals their surroundings had turned them into. To the dismay of the majority of locals living in Lockton, these boys would wonder the dark streets, only deepening the resentment towards what was once home. Constantly they would be patrolling the streets, reiterating what was their turf.

Watching the bassets patrol the streets, marking their territory, were the Parsons who were less about causing intimidation. They planned their attack indoors and let the fear of the unexpected scare their opponents, successfully. Tom Parsons, a deeply troubled lad, moved to the area only five years ago. To the dismay of Dan Basset, Parson's had an instant impact on Lockton attracting attention from all directions. He was charismatic. He exuded charm, to the same extent Dan Basset exuded angst. He was Passive but made it obvious to his peers that they should avoid his bad side. Tom had the one attribute that Dan Basset would never have and wanted so much. The ability and intelligence to cut him deep with words. Tom and his boys could remain calm when a storm was brewing. This angered the Basset's as they could not see past their fists and blood stained weapons. However, both sides knew that words were now empty threats. The infinite day was decided. February the 25th. It would take place in the bare, desolated allotments where this intimate affair could not be disturbed. The strategy; absolute carnage.

Silence was taking it last few breaths before the fight was to commence. The calm before the storm, preparing itself for what was going to happen. The chosen allotments, were once sacred grounds to the locals representing growth, new beginnings and a fresh start. Factors that Lockton had been lacking for too long. Now the allotments were to become home to dead bodies; hate; years of resentment and most importantly, these historic grounds would provide victory for one desperate group of pathetic men. The enemies, once friends, both approached the allotment. Some were clenching their fists no longer able to prevent what was an inevitable ending. Others were crying. It was the thought of kissing their wives and children for the last time. Grown beasts, with the only intention to kill, were asking themselves 'did I tell my mum I loved her enough?'. The majority could think of nothing but the pungent smell of blood and the breath taking taste of winning. Basset nodded at Parson. He returned a sincere nod. And with that they made history.

It's now 2006. That sacrificial events of that day left so many dead, not only those involved. Lockton will never be what it once was. Theres too many stains that can never be removed. But we're getting there.