Loosely inspired by the London riots.

[TeranikaSloane]

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((For the record I know barely anything about the actual cause of the London riots, what has inspired this is me thinking what it would have been like for the victims of the riots. And it is based in my hometown not London.))

We’d first heard about it on the news but it never occurred to us that it could spread our area. I guess it’s that victim attitude ‘Ah, it’ll never happen too us.’ Well my family was wrong, we were being affected. Rocks were being thrown through windows, gangs were randomly choosing houses to break into. It was chaos, I wondered what was going through these guys minds. Actually I had the niggling suspicion that nothing was going through their minds. How had this started? The hoards of teenage gangs roaming the streets, smashing their way into wherever they wanted to go, how had this started? Actually I don’t have any idea and that hardly mattered right now. It was happening, it had the potential to be life and death. Who gave two ****s how it started? It wasn’t like I could change anything. When we heard the smashes and went out to investigate it had been my dad who had grabbed my shirt and literally dragged me back inside our two storey house at the sight of the crowd of teenagers charging down our street like a tidal wave. Excuse me if the first thing that came too my mind was a load of swear words. We had barely five minutes to decide whether or not it was a good thing to pretend there was no one home. In the end we had the decison made for us, as the lights were still on as the gangs swarmed past us. Was there seriously this many teenage gangs in Townsville? It was somehow amazing and yet terrifying at the same time, watching this big crowd of people walk through our street. It held a kind of beauty, the sight of all those people moving as one, determined expressions etched into their faces. They reminded me of soliders and suddenly I believed I knew in a vague way the feelings of people who knew soldiers not as protectors but as attackers. The beauty of the scene was lost in the terror of what was going to happen, of what they were going to do and what they were highly capable of doing. Needless too say my whole family, my mother, my father, my little brother and my older brother and I all sat in the loungeroom, next to the kitchen, hoping that no one targeted our house. I knew the moment the knock echoed through the house that it was a hollow hope. Honestly I don't remember ordering my father to stay seated as I stood up and walked over to the kitchen. I picked up my mothers butcher knife, the blade turned sideways away from my hand. My older brother joined me at the front door as I pulled it open, the knife outstretched in front of me.
"What?" So sorry for being rude but terror had thorughly gripped me and I was struggling to stay in the one spot. There was a teenager in front of us but he didn't seem like a rioter, he was fidgty, his eyes wide and shifting from both of our faces to the knife in my hand. Not a rioter, he had to be around the same age as me and he was terrified. Slowly I lowered the knife, noting that my brother was watching over the teens shoulder, making sure that no one was watching him or us.
"Help me, I was walking home when they started." His voice was weak and shaky and I knew that he was telling the truth. Roughly I grabbed him and shoved him inside, he almost barreled into my father. I closed the door again, once again terrified that I had brought attention too us. For the rest of the night I was unable to keep still, I paced back and forth, answering the door a few more times with the knife outstretched answering any of the rioters unspoken queries. Don't ask me why but I think the fact that the door was answered by two teenagers actually protected us. The rioters did not have an adult in front of them looking at them with reprimanding eyes but two teenagers with eyes filled with fury and terror. Whatever the case they buggered off and left us alone. WHen morning dawned the last of the rioters were gone, the guy who had taken refuge with us managed to contact his family and they came and got him. I don't think he felt he was safe walking home by his own now. I don't think I blame him either. The terror of that night I will never forget and there is one thing that I always think about. If I had answered that door with the knife in my hand and a rioter had attacked us would I have reacted violently? A thought that constantly scares me and I know is true is that I would've. If I had been attacked I would've attacked back without a thought. I believe that with my whole heart and it terrifies me. Are we really the most evolved species or is that just vanity? Because on that night I don't believe any of us could've differentiated ourselves with the rest of the animal kingdom.

[Delta40]

I didn't really feel the terror that you said you felt in this piece. There is very little showing in the story that the reader can respond to and alot of telling of what was happening and what you were thinking.

You asked how did this start several times in the first paragraph which made it repetitive. I also don't know how being with your entire family one moment to wielding a knife at the door with your brother behind you. Since I have absolutely no insight into the family dynamic, it seems to lack authenticity.

I would encourage you to keep writing however, because we all have stuff to unearth, discover and learn and no piece of writing is ever wasted! Check the difference between 'too' and 'to' for your information.

Good luck.

[TeranikaSloane]

I did this blind, which is that I only had a vague idea and let my fingers add in the details. I didn't think much as I wrote this and honestly I have never experienced terror as such I imagine you would feel in this situation so I didn't have a clue how to add it. I do have better stories, this one was just an idea I was itching to get off my mind before it became permantly etched there, I had to do a story about a girl in the middle of being raped for english once and I made the unfortunate mistake of completely losing myself in the character, had nightmares for a week afterwards.

[Delta40]

I empathize, especially getting lost in the character but it can also be a powerful tool as well. You obviously have a drive to write and so keep going. Keep posting here on Lit-Net for reviews of your work. I recommend that you read other posts and comment as well. Developing your own style often comes from taking a technique from here and another technique from there....

You're most welcome here Teranika!

[hillwalker]

You obviously have the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes and write about their experiences - so maybe you set yourself too challenging a task here. Writing about the riots from the perspective of a victim is different to writing about it as an impartial observer looking for an explanation. And that's where I think you have slightly lost your way.

The first paragraph is repetitive, as Delta says, because you're trying to rationalise the behaviour of the rioters instead of exploring what it would really feel like to be at the receving end of an attack. Would you really be asking all those questions? I doubt it.

This is the kind of story that needs to begin with immediate action - a rock being thrown through a window or a car alarm going off or the smell of burning. Imagine you're there in the house experiencing such a thing. You need to have the reader sitting next to you going through the same emotions. What would your first reaction be? How would your behaviour change once you realise it's a randon attack on society rather than on you personally? How close would you come to breaking the law yourself to save your skin?

It's a story about responding immediately to a set of circumstances. The reason it lacks tension and fails to describe the terror adequately is that you're allowing your character to think too much about the causes of the riots rather than the effects.

An interesting piece, and a worthy effort at handling a difficult topic. Don't give up writing, but try to make it more personal even if you do have to suffer nightmares as a consequence.

H

[J Kelley]

You have an engaging writing style. It held my attention even though I didn't really see what the point of it was. It kind of seemed like it was going somewhere but then it didn't. Also, when the narrator did the self-reflecting bit at the end, I kind of felt like it should have been a little darker. Maybe a part of him was hoping someone would attack, hoping he would get to use the knife. Maybe he could feel the energy of the crowd despite his fear, a "call of the wild" type of emotion. I don't see why it would scare someone to realize of himself that he would defend his family if necessary.