“Are you stupid? I’ll stab you myself!”
Coreen exclaimed as she lunged towards Rasharn with her fist still in her pocket ready to strike.
A woman who worked with the youth offender’s leadership team, named Sandra, stood in Coreen’s way. She tried to calm her down and seclude her from the small crowd of people who had been on their phones, gathering around her. Rasharn laughed and stuck his middle finger at Coreen. She was too far away to act now, thus she let go of her knife but continued to scream and throw her hands up as if they could somehow hurt him from the distance. The woman had led her to the corner of the room, carefully ducking and dodging so that Coreen’s fists did not catch her face. An off-duty police officer with a scar from his forehead to the bridge of his nose (who worked part-time at the youth offender’s college) was watching Coreen with a firm grip on his concealed gun. The officer was called PC Connor. He was ready to intervene, but Sandra had everything under control. Keys walked to the middle of the crowd of young people. They all jumped and shouted as if they were at a rave. The officer was disgusted by Keys’ presence.
“Settle down. Sit in your seats,” Keys commanded.
All the kids listened to him and made their way to their seats. The woman who was calming down Coreen in the corner turned around to see the man who had set order to the chaos of her session. Rasharn White sat silently as he listened to the mysterious man who had saved him and his friends from tragedy two months prior. Sandra recognised the man in the mask and gave him thumbs up before returning to Coreen (who was less agitated than before).
“This is a safe environment for all of you. This is a place where no one is allowed to judge you for your past. This is a place where you are who you are and you become what you want to be. Sandra over here—he said whilst pointing at the woman speaking to Coreen—tells me that you are all talented people. I believe that you all have the potential to be talented, but I am not going to take Sandra at her word. In fact from what you have displayed of your behaviour, I believe she may even be lying. I want all of you to prove her right. I am giving all of you half an hour to create an original piece of art according to your talents,” Keys explained.
He clapped his hands enthusiastically and pointed at a young man at random. The young man was taken aback by the sudden action.
“What is your name? What is your talent? And who do you want to be?”
Keys asked forcefully.
The young man grinned.
“I’m Charles. I can draw, and I want to be an artist.”
Keys made his way to the back of the room to pick up some painting supplies from the cupboard. Coreen and Sandra were both facing Keys from the back of the room as his entrance to the session melted away any sense of agitation or anger. All the kids tried hard not to ask Keys why he was wearing a mask. Keys took some various painting equipment and an A3 sheet of paper to Charles’ desk.
“Draw anything you want. Can all the other artists in this class please come to this area over here if they would like to share the equipment given?” King Keys said.
A young woman made her way next to Charles and Keys handed her another A3 piece of paper. As soon as they had their equipment, they started painting like fools. They took their brushes and started attacking their papers like wolverines with a flurry of colours. Keys clapped again enthusiastically and pointed at Rasharn White. He didn’t need to ask any questions: Rasharn understood what Keys was asking.
“I don’t know,” he responded.
He said it without confidence and without any care. The class stayed silent apart from the sound of paintbrushes dancing gracefully on paper.
“Write me a dramatic monologue about your life. It could be a rap, a poem or a speech. I expect no less than a masterpiece,” Keys stated simply whilst handing Rasharn with paper and a pen.
Rasharn understood what Keys was saying, but he doubted his own ability. Nevertheless, he tried. Coreen took a seat at the back of the class. Keys gradually went through the whole class, motivating them to use their talents, resulting in the emergence of a wave of creativity.
Once they had all started to work hard, Keys connected his laptop to the class speakers and played some ambient music. The slow and almost distant sound of the piano in the piece of music being played took over the room and flooded it with the perfect sounds to concentrate to. Each student felt completely and utterly at peace as they worked.
A man named Jacque walked into the class. He was a short Congolese man, but he had been westernised. He was a member of staff and an ex-youth offender himself. He was impressed to see the kids that he worked with, who he knew to be some of the unruliest of people, working and focussing on creative tasks. Thirty minutes passed swiftly, and the students moaned when they found out that their time was over. Keys first asked Charles and Diletta, the second artist in the class, to present their artworks. Both were unfinished, but they were both incredibly impressive. Charles’ piece of art was a hazy self-portrait drawn in an impressionist style. In the picture, he was smoking a blunt. Charles’ friends were in the background of the painting, and one of his friends resembled the features of Jordan Jones, but the piece was unfinished so it was unclear. Diletta presented a painting of a woman in an elegant velvet red dress. It was almost photorealist. The painted woman stood confidently with a smirk on her face. There were men in the background wearing ragged clothing and handcuffs, cleaning toilets, and they stared at the woman in admiration. Although it was not finished, it looked perfect due to the outline painted with shades of orangey red. Keys asked the class to applaud the two artists. Another young woman offered to share her talent next. She sang beautifully a song she had written in the 30 minutes that had been given. Her voice had a soulful tone to it like that of Nai Palm from Hiatus Kaiyote.
Keys turned to Rasharn last to read his masterpiece to the class. He had his hood on from the moment he had started writing. He refused to take it off. He had a solemn expression, and he stood up to read. Aesthetically, he looked like the stereotype of criminals that had been pushed forward in the media. His voice was deep and gritty. He read:
’Born with a silver spoon, but I live the life of a twisted individual.
I keep good deeds to a minimal,
I sin, and I’m past feeling remorse.
My voice is coarse from smoke burning through my lungs at every instance.
Flames consume my fate. Salvation feels too distant.
The helpless delinquent:
I’m a nocturnal creature with obsidian eyes.
I’ve ruined lives and birthed nightmares.
Like Columbus, I’m territorial.
No care as to who was where first,
If I’ve arrived, I’ve colonised,
Spread misery and deprived all chances of hope.
I live a violent life. People have begged me for mercy:
I’ve never compromised.
I’ve heard God is great, but honestly, I’m scared.
This is my moment.
Death comes quick to the sinner.
I’ve heard God is forgiving, but I doubt he’ll grant my atonement.’
The class stayed quiet for a few moments. Jacque stared at Rasharn open mouthed. He walked up to him and shook his hand.
“Good work, Rasharn. That is the stuff I like to see from you.”
Starting with King Keys, the whole class applauded Rasharn. Even Coreen who had sat in her seat the entire lesson—like a bomb ready to explode—was diffused by the dark honesty of Rasharn’s words. She clapped quietly. A buzzer went. The class started to pack their stuff and make their way home. Jacque made an announcement to the class that Keys would be returning to lead their creative skills lesson in seven days. As the students left the class, they started to realise the absurdness of their session: a masked man walked into their class and gave instructions that they all followed without fuss. Sandra who stood in the corner and watched the whole session was dumbfounded that her most horrible student, Rasharn White,
had talent. He was the last student to leave the room. As he left, he shook King Keys’ hand firmly and thanked him. Even King Keys, the telepath, was unsure whether Rasharn was appreciative of the opportunity he was given in lesson or appreciative of his intervention in the fight that had happened two months before.
Chapter 9
Remel is going to the local shop around 19:30. He crosses the path of the students who have just left the youth offender’s session.
Remel did not want to see anyone. It was the night before Halloween, and during that time in his area, the delinquent children started becoming wilder than usual. They roamed the streets at night preparing for the moment when they would stand in the middle of the road, set fireworks everywhere they could; egg houses; and play pranks on innocent civilians. No one was safe. Remel wore his hood and kept his head down whilst going to the shop. Whilst he was making his way there, he saw his friend Rasharn White walking in circles near the bus stop like a black cat. He stood in front of an abnormally designed bin with brush like hairs at its mouth. Remel tried to make out the writing on it, but Rasharn stood in the way. He looked up and saw his friend, Remel. They spudded each other’s fists and started speaking about how they hadn’t seen each other in ages. It was like an elderly person’s reunion.
Around 50 yards away, Remel spotted the girl who had kissed him at the party. She was waiting for someone. He thought about speaking to her, but his senses warned him that it was a conversation that would end horrifically. He wasn’t sure why he was immediately so adverse to the idea, but he listened to his gut feeling. He looked away and averted his attention back onto Rasharn. Rasharn started talking about a party he was hosting on the night of the 31st. He was renting out an apartment, and everyone was going to be there. Remel considered it, but the girl, who was still standing in the distance, reminded him of the terrible events that had occurred at the last party he went to. Remel refused the offer.
Someone drove up in an old banger and parked near Coreen on double yellow lines. The person, who turned out to be Emmanuel Akinyemi, pulled his window down to speak to Coreen, who Remel soon discovered was Emmanuel’s younger sister. They spoke for a moment before Emmanuel jumped out of his car and started walking towards Rasharn and Remel. They only realised that it was Emmanuel when he was around ten yards away. Rasharn turned back to the abnormally shaped bin. It was now that Remel could see it was a knife bin. The mouth of the bin was half-full with Rasharn’s machete. Rasharn grabbed the handle of his machete, which stuck out of the mouth of the knife bin and extracted it. Emmanuel remembered the large blade which had almost been the literal bane of his existence but chose not to recoil fearfully. He pulled a switchblade out of his trousers. Coreen marched behind her brother towards Remel and Rasharn. Remel was unarmed and unprepared to fight. He didn’t even want to get involved. He had to do something. His idea was almost suicidal.
He fly kicked Emmanuel Akinyemi in his stomach. Emmanuel immediately dropped to the floor, and Remel confiscated the switchblade that had dropped from his hands so that he could throw it in the knife bin. Emmanuel groaned on the floor and held his stomach. He tried to soldier on the pain, and he was still ready to fight. Remel begged Rasharn to throw away his knife, but he seized it and threw it in the bin before his friend could respond for himself. Rasharn stared at his friend who had just dashed around the street like a ninja. Emmanuel was on the floor and his sister was making sure he was okay before he could finish his crusade. Rasharn ran home. Remel followed his friend’s example.
“Remel! Did you get the milk and flour?” asked Remel’s mum as he arrived home.
“No, Mum! They were out of stock,” Remel replied, and he went to bed.
Chapter 10
The day is the 31st October. Rasharn White and his twin brother have just committed a murder. The time is 17:45.
Hastings White ran hurriedly but stopped occasionally to urge his brother to stop running so slowly. This is not what Rasharn had expected. An immediate sense of guilt and horror tingled over his burning chest. Once they had run far enough, Rasharn grabbed his twin by the shoulder and spun him around so that they would be face to face with each other. Rasharn was not a murderer. Hastings could see it on his brother’s face. Rasharn breathed frantically as his brother stared at him unsympathetically.
“He’s dead. There’s no way he survived!”
Rasharn exclaimed in shock.
“I know,” replied Hastings calmly as he walked on.
Rasharn took a long shower as soon he had arrived home: the stench of death was detestably recognisable all over his body. He remembered the sight of his enemy’s beaten corpse as the words: ‘I’ve heard God is great, but I doubt he’ll grant my atonement’ rang painfully true in his head. Rasharn searched in his mind for a means of retribution. The only answer he could find was to inform the police of him and his brother’s sin. It was also imperative for him to cancel the party that he had arranged for the night. There was no reason for him to celebrate. He got dressed and informed his twin of his idea. Hastings punched his brother in the chest jokingly and told him not to be stupid.
Both of the brothers were accustomed to knife usage. As people who lived the type of lives that they did, it was impossible to survive without protection. Rasharn had always been afraid of the capabilities of his knife. Only two people had ever felt the wrath of his discarded blade, and both of them had survived, which ironically pleased him. He wanted all of his enemies to suffer but not to die. So much so that being a contributor to Emmanuel’s end clearly weighed on his conscience.
He knew that Hastings would continue to laugh off any of his suggestions so he took out his phone and called the police in his presence. Hastings punched his brother in the throat, stopping the flow of the confessions from his mouth and took him down to the floor with a move that looked like a Muy Thai sweep. Rasharn fell onto the side of his face. Hastings hung up the phone for him.
“We were supposed to just beat him up and leave, but you took his life. Even God won’t forgive us,” pleaded Rasharn sounding much too soft-hearted for who he was.
Hastings laughed at his twin’s gentle and child-like tone of voice and replied by saying:
“Not true. God’s grace is unconditional.”
He didn’t want to hurt his brother, but he could see that his guilt would cost him a life sentence. In order to protect himself from the dangers of imprisonment, he knocked Rasharn out, dragged him into his room and locked the door from the outside.
Hastings left his twin in his room for the next three days. Guilt was unable to penetrate his conscience whereas solitary confinement had provided the optimum conditions for Rasharn’s insanity to unravel as he failed to rid himself of his good conscience. Miraculously, his ‘back-up’ phone was in a box in his room and in perfect condition. When he had found it, he took it immediately and called the police again. Hastings, not being one to truly appreciate the nature of miracles, heard the phone conversation with the police, stormed into his brother’s room and confiscated the device. Rasharn had put Hastings at an immediate risk. There was only one solution: one that caused him great pain to even consider, but it had to be done.
Chapter 11
King Keys, The Perpetually Pensive Poet is having a meeting in the poet’s room with other members and sponsors of the ‘Change Maker’s Charity’. It is the day after Halloween.
The ‘Poet’s Room’ had been tidied up. All the used paper and old painting equipment had either been thrown away or stored in drawers and cupboards. The tables had been arranged into a large rectangular shape. There were 11 people at the table. Two women in their forties sat at one end. They were obviously the most distinguished people at the table. Both of them were Congolese women. The first one Dr Esther Seko PhD was a woman who had spent most of her life in England. She was the founder of this charity and an ex-lawyer. She had the mind of an activist from a young age, because she could never see injustice in the world around her and keep her eyes closed toward
s it. Throughout her life, gender inequality was a problem she had to face, but she didn’t let it distract her from her goals. She rose to be the best in everything she did. She was a symbol of determination.
The second woman sitting next to Esther was the co-founder of the charity. Her name was Dr Regina Mutombo M.B. OBE. Regina had spent all of her life until the age of 16 in Congo. Her parents had moved to England, because they had been fooled by stories that the United Kingdom was an island with roads paved in gold. When Regina—an only child—and her parents came to England, they realised that nothing was as it seemed, and thus they lived the beginning of their English life fighting in a lower class rat race. Regina’s parents constantly regretted their decision to leave Congo. They were highly respected in their home country so it was a shock to come to the white man’s country to start over. They were all survivors by nature, and they did not let themselves be subjugated by the western way of life. Regina gained recognition from the Queen when she saved the life of a boy who was about to commit suicide, and she gave shelter to a homeless family in the same month. She was also a medical doctor. The other people at the table were all committee members of the festival.
“James and Julie have we sorted the finance issue from last meeting? I know during the last meeting we discussed the payment for Revolución as well. Has that been sorted?” asked Esther.
James and Julie nodded their heads affirmatively.
Regina then asked King Keys for the order of events for the festival. He slid a piece of paper on the table in front of both Esther and Regina.
“Everything is as noted, but the mayor of London confirmed her presence yesterday so we can confirm her slot, and we have yet to get Remel’s acceptance to record his speech,” King Keys replied.
The Escape Page 5
