The Celebration (short story)

By Luke Labern

The Celebration
(Or: Silent K)

Exams were over. It was by all accounts time to celebrate. They were that step closer to ‘the future’, but for now it had a positive spin on it. It was time to head to university, time to step from young adulthood into true adulthood, to take responsibility for their actions and to finally, after all these years, do what they wanted to do. They had summer ahead of them, one last summer in which to cling onto the now fading remnants of childhood: if only the weather would hold out, they’d have the beach to look forward to. They could make the most of their small seaside town before they spread out all over the country to all the big, landlocked cities and counties. This was it: a massive turning point. It would all start tonight, on this warm June evening which was rich with emotion and optimism. The first port of call, of course, was to decide what to do.

‘Do we drink?' asked Kevin, already knowing the answer. None of them were big drinkers. They were relatively countercultural in that they didn’t adhere to the stereotypical youth mould. None of them were foul-mouthed louts; none of them were sex-obsessed, unintelligent, or yobbish. They were all quite unique and popular in a small scale way, finely appreciated by those who had the ability to perceive that the loudest people are not automatically the best. Mostly, though, they enjoyed each other’s company. They were a tight-knit group by any definition, and they knew far more exciting and experimental paths to hedonism than depressants and boisterousness. This was going to be their last time together, this summer, for quite some time, and they were fully aware of this. It would make sure to colour their actions and lust for life with an extra layer of vivacity. They always rose to the occasion.

Kevin’s question did not even require an answer, and it merely received chuckles in reply. They already knew what they would be doing that evening, and it was situated in Blake’s pocket in a thin, translucent bag. What was needed now was some light entertainment before the night began.

They all had their specialities, as it were: Kevin was a technical sort, adept at computing, spending much of his time programming clever applications on his computer. He was also quite well known around the town, and was popular simply because he was very easy going. His sense of humour allowed him to slot into any group and act as a social lubricant. He was also very quick to suggest or to spread his interests, specifically film and music. ‘I say we watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas whilst we… “wait”.’

Blake laughed, for this was the eighth time he had heard this in the past week. Perhaps it was finally time. He headed out of the lounge and into the kitchen to see what supplies were around. They would need fruit, preferably something full of vitamin C, and some chewing gum; drinks would also be particularly vital later in the evening. This left Kevin and Damon in the lounge, pondering over how to spend the next hour and a half or so. All talk of exams was strictly banned: they were done now, and it was time to celebrate. ‘Hard work now,’ as Blake had earlier said: ‘hedonism later.’

Damon was particularly fond of hedonism, and was a thoroughly popular member of the town also. If Kevin was a social lubricant, Damon was a necessary fixture in most conversations. He was particularly adored by his female peers, as they found him overwhelmingly ‘cute’, though it was usually up in the air as to whether this was a useful thing or not. ‘Maybe we actually should watch it. I’m up for anything tonight.’ A large, genuine grin made its way across his face as he said this, as his thoughts lingered to the contents of Blake’s pocket. At that moment, Blake returned to the room.

‘I’ve got no supplies, unfortunately. I’ll go and get some from up the road. What does everyone want?’ Blake asked, looking into his wallet, finding it empty.

‘Gum – and lots of it!’ Damon said.

‘And oranges,’ Kevin added. ‘I’ve got some money here, if you want.’

‘It’s okay,’ Blake replied, holding his hand up. ‘I’ll cover it, it won’t be much. But I will leave these here,’ he said, fishing his hand into his pocket and throwing three pink pills onto the table. ‘Don’t let the dogs eat them!’

‘I’ll put the film on,’ Kevin said. ‘You’ll love it!’ This was aimed at Damon, but he was currently looking at the screen of his phone, smiling at something. Damon was always smiling at something.

‘I won’t be too long – you can start without me. Have a smoke beforehand if you like. As soon as I get back, it’s time…’ Blake flashed them a powerful smile and left his lounge, putting his wallet back into his pocket after making sure his card was in there.

 *

Blake was happy to go on the quick trip to the supermarket up the road as it gave him time to think. He was very much a fan of time on his own, and he hadn’t had any time to himself after a very stressful day. He was often calm before his exams, especially ones that involved thinking logically, or persuasive writing – that was very much his forte – but that morning he had accompanied his girlfriend to the English exam and she had been anything but calm. Rather than spending the final moment before the exam revising some technical terms, or clearing his head of negative thoughts, he had spent it acting as amateur councillor, which, though he usually didn’t mind, was not something he wanted to do before a vital exam in which he was expected to do stunningly well. He was fine with the pressure, so long as he was allowed to prepare in whatever way he wanted. Somehow, he had managed to find time away from his girlfriend that evening, insisting they spend time with friends of their own gender that evening. It turned out that she had gone out drinking and clubbing, but that was put far into the back of his mind: there was a mind-blowing evening ahead, and right then, he had the whole world to himself, on his ten-minute round trip to collect supplies for what was sure to be an unforgettable evening. He put his noise-cancelling earbuds into his ears, pressed play and began the journey.

There was something special about that evening over and above exams being done and what was in store for him when he got home. The air was thick, imparting a particular emotion in him when he breathed in which he couldn’t quite describe. The stars were piercing through the dark sky above; there were no clouds above and apparently the light pollution of the urban setting was no match for the sheer power of those stars so far away in time and space. The streetlights were particularly attractive, and Blake would purposefully squint his eyes at time to morph the images all around him slightly. He was thoroughly enjoying himself and was allowing himself the freedom of nonchalance because of the occasion and his excitement. There seemed to be no one around. All he could see was the interplay between the darkness above and the reflections of the moonlight and street lights against the brickwork of the houses and occasional block of flats (which weren’t too tall as to imply council estate stereotypes) and the deep, dark hue of the tarmac. It began to strike him that these sights and sounds, which he had known since he could remember (he’d never lived anywhere else) would soon no longer be his everyday sights. He would be moving away and would soon call somewhere else home. But there was something particularly charming about his hometown, even though, through different eyes, its over-reliance on artificial elements like concrete, tarmac and other monochrome building blocks could easily render it a dark example of urban life and a move away from nature.

But Blake was ruminating on his exam performance and life in general. The exam had gone well, he would be heading to his university of choice and he had the whole summer to do, in essence, whatever he wanted. These thoughts gave him reason to smile to himself, completely ignoring the fact that he was now being tailed by a hooded figure that was increasing the speed of his footsteps with each passing moment. As Blake turned a corner, away from the more residential side of town and into an interconnecting alley which acted as a shortcut towards the commercial part of town, the hooded individual used that moment to sprint forward, unseen by anyone, right behind Blake.

Just a few feet behind Blake, he said in a low and aggressive tone, ‘Give me your money.’ But Blake had his headphones in – which was the only reason that this young man was able to creep up on him in the first place. As such, he didn’t respond. The man in the hood quickly realised this, spotting the white cable heading from Blake’s right ear to his pocket. He ripped it from his ear, and as Blake turned to investigate, he thrust himself towards him.

They were standing face to face: Blake was wearing nothing but a polo shirt and found the only thing in his view was a face he couldn’t quite make out. It was covered by a thick hood, though he could just about spot some thin facial hair around his upper lip and menacing eyes. Their noses were less than a few inches apart, and this man’s eyes bored into him. He repeated his demand.

‘Give me your money.’

It was only at this moment that Blake realised that he was in an awful position. His heart had begun to beat at a preposterously fast rate; adrenaline shot through all of his limbs and his legs began to quiver with anticipation. His fight-or-flight mechanism was in full swing. He began to think about striking the man with his elbow, following it with a quick knee to the sternum, but it was at this moment that his horror was fully realised.

Blake looked away from the man’s face and down towards the floor. He spotted the tell-tale shimmer and gleam of light running across the edge of a blade pressed to his stomach. It was not, as yet, posing him any harm, and he had not noticed it in his surprise, with his body primed for danger. This was certainly not how the human body evolved: it was not designed to cope to weapons such as this. The knife was pressed slightly further towards him: his t-shirt now had an indent in it as the blade began to pierce through the perforations in its surface.

All of this had happened in milliseconds: Blake now knew that his plan to incapacitate the threat was now impossible. It was now his duty to comply with this man’s orders as best as he could.

‘I don’t have any money on me.’ He felt a quiver as the blade retracted and then found its way back to him again, but only by millimetres.

‘I can see the wallet in your pocket.’

Blake knew that he had made a grave error by not keeping his wits about him. He was usually extremely perceptive, especially of dangers such as this – he was even quietly confident about dealing with this sort of situation. But he had no plan whatsoever being caught out: his entire strategy was built around his ability to act first, and swiftly. He was unnerved by the man’s perceptiveness; he had never felt so vulnerable. ‘There’s no money in it: only my card.’

The man made a kind of grunt, in anger. ‘Don’t move. I’m taking your wallet out of your pocket.’ He did this slowly, making sure that the knife was kept as close as possible to Blake’s stomach. He moved his left hand away from the back of Blake’s right shoulder and slipped it into Blake’s right pocket, retracting the wallet out, flipping it open and finding his card, all with one hand. This was not his first time.

‘There’s a cash point down just ahead. We’re going to walk there and you’re going to take out all of the money you can, and give it to me. Now turn around and walk calmly. If anyone sees us, do not pull anything funny. I’m warning you.’ This man was particularly blunt and clear: it was almost as if he sensed that Blake was intelligent and wanted to make sure that he understood his instructions to a T, not finding any clever loopholes.

In the process of turning around, back to the way he was originally facing, Blake experienced a surge of emotion just as strong as the one he had done earlier, when he had taken a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Only this time, it wasn’t joy that he was feeling, but utter panic. Somehow, Blake felt that in the two minute walk to the cash point, he should try to talk to the man who was threatening him with death. For some reason, bravery found its way firmly into his thoughts: he decided that not all would-be victims had his ability to structure and use language to achieve ends. He decided that he would talk.

 *

 As they began to march slowly forward, Blake knew that, far from being a help, if anyone else appeared on the scene things could go from bad to worse. This man was just as nervous as he was, he knew that: any sudden movements would be out of the question, just as it would be fatal for the two of them to have to pretend that they weren’t intertwined in a crime. The hooded man held the knife right behind Blake’s lower back, standing on his right, constantly looking out for anyone who could spoil his crime.

Blake took a deep breath, after walking for half a minute or so. ‘Why are you doing this?’

The man made the same noise as before. ‘Don’t talk.’

For whatever reason, Blake didn’t heed his advice and carried on. ‘I’m going to give you all the money I have in my bank: I’ve got about fifty. Can’t you just tell me why you’re doing this? There’s no need to point the knife in my back: I’m hardly going to run off. I can tell you need the money.’

‘What did you say?’ the man quickly said, especially aggressively this time. ‘Don’t try to analyse me. Just shut the fuck up and keep walking.’

Blake’s adrenaline had now restored him to his fully confident state: he was not a young man who respected fear, and though there was a knife now digging into the skin of his lower back muscle, he refused to back down from his attempts to talk to the man. ‘If only I had taken the pills with me,’ he thought; ‘I could have bribed him with them. Or if only I had taken Kev’s money…’

The cash point was just up ahead. Blake’s thoughts now turned simply to getting the money out of his account, into the man’s hands and being able to get home. Home had never seemed to appealing now – and his hometown, with its many urban structures, its manmade edifices and its streetlights, had never looked so appalling. The streetlights seemed to give off an air of vulgarity, of disdain, of everything that was wrong with the world. Blake’s mind-set was oscillating wildly – violently, even. At moments he wanted to strike this man; knock him off his feet, kick the knife away from his grip and unload with almighty blows to his face, punishing him for who he was and what he was doing. Then he would come to his senses and bemoan whatever sad state of affairs forced a young man, no older than him, to violently rob people on the street. He was beginning to feel dizzy and almost lost his bearings.

They had reached the cash point. From the hooded man’s point of view, this was the riskiest part of the operation: the centre of town was literally a cross-roads, with lots of open spaces and nowhere to hide. No one was there, for now, so this had to be quick. Blake was positioned at the cash point with the hooded man close behind him, now pointing the knife towards the side of his right abdomen, concealing the weapon in case anyone happened to walk past.

‘Type in your PIN.’

Blake did: six-five-seven-three. He pressed the corresponding buttons to take out fifty pounds, but the man wasn’t so slow.

‘Let’s check your balance first.’ For some reason, this sent a shiver down Blake’s spine. Why someone who was clearly not unintelligent resorting to this? There were no, ‘why me?’ thoughts, mainly exasperation: he didn’t see why it was necessary. He had never been touched by crime before, not this kind. He almost laughed when he considered that the pills at his house were illegal: this, this robbery was illegal. This was crime. What he wanted to do in his own house was his own choice: it didn’t harm anyone. He knew the black market was just like this, and he’d much rather not feed it money. But it still struck him that this sort of thing is what the police should have been cracking down on, not the billowing smoke filling his room at home, where Kevin and Damon were currently sitting, having abandoned the film, wondering where Blake was. Blake was now extremely exhausted, despite the fact it had been only a few minutes since he had been ripped from ecstasy into the dark reality he was now subject to.

Blake pressed the corresponding buttons. Each bleep that the ATM made angered the hooded man: it was just another way to attract attention. Though it clearly wasn’t Blake’s fault, he was getting more and more agitated.

‘You little shit.’

The balance read eighty pounds. Blake had forgotten that his father had put money in his account earlier that day – quite forgivable in any other circumstance, but not in this one.

The attacker was now becoming incensed. ‘Finishing the fucking transaction, and give me your wallet. You’ve probably got some more in there hidden away. I’m not taking any chances with you, you seem to think you’re very clever.’

Blake finished pressing all the right buttons and the eighty pounds came out of the machine. The hooded man took it, and began to count it. At the same moment, Blake reached for the wallet that was now in his left pocket, having instinctively putting it back. His unconscious didn’t seem to realise that he was undergoing a crime and that such trivial moves became hugely important. Blake turned to hand the man the wallet.

‘Here. I hope you use—‘

Blake was interrupted by the three inch blade which was driven into his stomach just to the side of his naval. Catching the motion only from his peripheral vision, the man had mistaken Blake handing him the wallet for an attack, and had plunged the knife into his stomach, impulsively and violently. Aghast, he made tragic eye contact with Blake as he looked down into his wound, noticing that his once-white polo was now soaking up the blood pouring from the hole in his stomach, the knife having been retracted.

Blake tried to speak, but couldn’t. He tried to mouth something, but the murderer had already bolted and was already out of sight. Blake fell to the floor and clutched at his stomach, blood seeping through the space between his fingers. The back of his head cracked against the pavement, and he laid flat on his back, staring straight up into the night, the light pollution from the town now taking hold.

He caught one final glimpse of the fading stars in the sky, and lost consciousness.