"You're a Scouser, boy. You're born tough!"
Why the words of his father were going through his head, Ian didn't quite know. But he did know he was being shot at, and it was time to run. He sprung up from his cover, bullets colliding with the things around him. He fired off a few return shots before sprinting in the opposite direction, weaving as bullets flew past him. This was bad. Very bad. He jumped to slide across the hood of a car, pushing himself forward as he came to the edge. He made a quick turn down an alley, not sure how far his pursuers were behind him. He looked around frantically as he exited the alley into the street. His eyes scanned for anything that could prove a temporary sanctuary. Then he saw it, a set of low walls by a back entrance doorway. He sprinted for them, vaulting over it when he arrived. He slumped to the ground, resting his back against it as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
---
He was twelve again, back home in Liverpool.
"You're a Scouser, boy. You're born tough!"
His father's face was hidden under the hood of the car, but his voice seemed to echo as Ian slumped against the wall in their garage. "But I don't see why I have to move that firewood all by myself! Why doesn't Jacob have to help?"
His father lifted his head up, the car had stained most of his shirt and face. "It was your brother's turn last time. Now go get the wood so we're all nice and warm. Think of it as a life lesson for when you're older!"
Ian groaned, continuing his protest. "I won't need to know how to lift things when I'm older. I'm going to be playing for The Reds!"
His dad snorted, returning to the engine as he voice began to echo once more. "You, at Anfield? With that 'I don't want to' attitude you won't even grow up to work at a Beatles gift shop!" He chuckled at his own joke, lifting his head back up to smile at his son. "Just do it. The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can-" His smile faded. "Hey, what's that?"
---
Ian opened his eyes. He was behind the low wall again, but there were voices with him. He could hear the men getting closer.
"Check that jewelry store, I'll keep going down the street."
Now he could hear footsteps. Bad. Very bad. The footsteps became louder; the man was close. He exhaled, it was now or never.
He popped up, shooting his pursuer at point blank range. He was sprinting off in the other direction before the body even hit the ground. He ran as fast as he could, retreating down alleys, hurdling over obstacles in his path. He skidded to a halt, his panting seeming to bounce off the alley walls. He reloaded his pistol, looking around. He seemed safe for the moment. He bent forward, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Then it hit him. He felt a slamming weight on his back, and he fell forward into blackness.
---
"What's what?"
"You've got a black eye!"
Ian avoided his father's eyes, staring down at his own shoes. "Oh, yeah..."
"'Oh yeah?' What happened?!"
Ian started to rub the back of his head. "Well, we beat Kyle's team at a game of football, and he's such a sore loser..."
"And did you fight back?"
Ian continued to lock his eyes on his shoes. "Well, no."
"You just sat there and took it?!"
The yelling got him to look up, giving his father a look of confusion and fear.
"Didn't you hear what I said?! You're a Scouser! When someone hits you, you don't just take the punch and walk away! You say 'Piss off' and hit 'em right back!"
"He was just some Scally, Dad...I didn't think he was worth it."
His father approached him, kneeling down to grip his shoulders. "Your honour is always worth it."
---
As he started to come to, Ian could make out a figure standing over him, gripping him by the shirt collar.
"So, you'd just thought you steal from us?" The man lowered his face to meet his. "Well, now you're going to have to take the punishment." Before Ian could come up with a witty retort, his was introduced to the man's fist and fell back to the ground.
But he landed on something.He smirked. Was this guy really stupid enough to not check for his gun? He pushed himself up on his hands, beginning to scoot backwards as the man started to laugh.
"Trying to crawl away? You've got nowhere to go!" Ian hit a fence as he moved his hand behind his back. "You can't escape. You're going to stay right here, and die in this back alley. What do you have to say to that?"
"Piss off."
Why the words of his father were going through his head, Ian didn't quite know. But he did know he was being shot at, and it was time to run. He sprung up from his cover, bullets colliding with the things around him. He fired off a few return shots before sprinting in the opposite direction, weaving as bullets flew past him. This was bad. Very bad. He jumped to slide across the hood of a car, pushing himself forward as he came to the edge. He made a quick turn down an alley, not sure how far his pursuers were behind him. He looked around frantically as he exited the alley into the street. His eyes scanned for anything that could prove a temporary sanctuary. Then he saw it, a set of low walls by a back entrance doorway. He sprinted for them, vaulting over it when he arrived. He slumped to the ground, resting his back against it as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
---
He was twelve again, back home in Liverpool.
"You're a Scouser, boy. You're born tough!"
His father's face was hidden under the hood of the car, but his voice seemed to echo as Ian slumped against the wall in their garage. "But I don't see why I have to move that firewood all by myself! Why doesn't Jacob have to help?"
His father lifted his head up, the car had stained most of his shirt and face. "It was your brother's turn last time. Now go get the wood so we're all nice and warm. Think of it as a life lesson for when you're older!"
Ian groaned, continuing his protest. "I won't need to know how to lift things when I'm older. I'm going to be playing for The Reds!"
His dad snorted, returning to the engine as he voice began to echo once more. "You, at Anfield? With that 'I don't want to' attitude you won't even grow up to work at a Beatles gift shop!" He chuckled at his own joke, lifting his head back up to smile at his son. "Just do it. The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can-" His smile faded. "Hey, what's that?"
---
Ian opened his eyes. He was behind the low wall again, but there were voices with him. He could hear the men getting closer.
"Check that jewelry store, I'll keep going down the street."
Now he could hear footsteps. Bad. Very bad. The footsteps became louder; the man was close. He exhaled, it was now or never.
He popped up, shooting his pursuer at point blank range. He was sprinting off in the other direction before the body even hit the ground. He ran as fast as he could, retreating down alleys, hurdling over obstacles in his path. He skidded to a halt, his panting seeming to bounce off the alley walls. He reloaded his pistol, looking around. He seemed safe for the moment. He bent forward, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Then it hit him. He felt a slamming weight on his back, and he fell forward into blackness.
---
"What's what?"
"You've got a black eye!"
Ian avoided his father's eyes, staring down at his own shoes. "Oh, yeah..."
"'Oh yeah?' What happened?!"
Ian started to rub the back of his head. "Well, we beat Kyle's team at a game of football, and he's such a sore loser..."
"And did you fight back?"
Ian continued to lock his eyes on his shoes. "Well, no."
"You just sat there and took it?!"
The yelling got him to look up, giving his father a look of confusion and fear.
"Didn't you hear what I said?! You're a Scouser! When someone hits you, you don't just take the punch and walk away! You say 'Piss off' and hit 'em right back!"
"He was just some Scally, Dad...I didn't think he was worth it."
His father approached him, kneeling down to grip his shoulders. "Your honour is always worth it."
---
As he started to come to, Ian could make out a figure standing over him, gripping him by the shirt collar.
"So, you'd just thought you steal from us?" The man lowered his face to meet his. "Well, now you're going to have to take the punishment." Before Ian could come up with a witty retort, his was introduced to the man's fist and fell back to the ground.
But he landed on something.He smirked. Was this guy really stupid enough to not check for his gun? He pushed himself up on his hands, beginning to scoot backwards as the man started to laugh.
"Trying to crawl away? You've got nowhere to go!" Ian hit a fence as he moved his hand behind his back. "You can't escape. You're going to stay right here, and die in this back alley. What do you have to say to that?"
"Piss off."
