Aaron Connor
Authors: Nathan Davey
Tags: #love, #drama, #humor, #feel good, #essex, #stereotypes, #moped, #underdog, #chav, #road story, #music festival
Aaron Connor
Nathan Davey
This book is dedicated to my
Mother and Father
Greg Davey and Jill Davey
Thanks for putting up with
me
“
Always do
right – this will gratify some and astonish the rest.”
Mark Twain
Aaron Connor
Nathan Davey
Copyright 2012 by Nathan
Davey
Smashwords Edition
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
“
Stay still
Connor!” screamed Barry, “Don’t you
dare
move!”
I was out in the middle of the
forest. It was empty and quiet. I was knelt down on the ground,
with my hands tied behind my back. A gun was pressed against my
cheek. I could feel the hollow tube of the gun’s barrel against my
skin, where I knew deep inside was a bullet that was ready to take
my life.
Never in my entire existence
had I felt such fear. Then again I’d never found myself in a
situation in which my life was on the line. There was fresh blood
across my face, my bones ached, my body was ready to collapse from
the exhaustion and my tracksuit was covered in mud. I really was a
miserable sight to see. A shadow of the bloke I once was.
My entire body was shivering.
It was August. It was meant to be summer but it wasn’t. It was
cold. In fact it was bloody freezing. England’s a horrible country
when it comes to weather. It’s so unpredictable. The cold of the
icy air didn’t in anyway compare to the dreadful chill brought
about by the steel of that gun. Shivers ran up my spine at the
thought of how many other people this gun murdered before me.
Barry was wearing his famous
Sheepskin coat which he never took off. He was looking down at me
through mirrored aviator sunglasses. I hated those glasses. I
couldn’t see where he was looking. All I could see was my blood
soaked face staring right back at me. He was also puffing away on
an old cigar as thick as a Lule Log. The cigar smoke rose from his
mouth in thick clouds. The strong smell of his tobacco was
overbearing and made me feel a little bit sick.
“
Such a shame
you know, mate” said Barry, “I was rather keen on you. With the
right teaching you would have done well in this business. Shame.
Easy come, easy go I suppose. You really could have gone far. But
you double crossed me. You stabbed me in the back. You’ve just
proven that you’re nothing but worthless scum. The world will be
better without you. Well, for me anyway.”
The horrible thought of that
bullet, which was about to fly out from that barrel, was running
through my mind. The film playing in my mind got more and more gory
the more I thought about it. Soon I felt hot tears run down my
face. I didn’t want to die so soon. Then again it would seem that I
had no choice in the matter, so I took in a deep breath and tried
to take it like a man. I kept back the tears and prepared myself
for what was to come.
There was no more warmth in my
heart. All the light, love and laughter were no longer present in
my soul. I was ready to die. I was ready to leave this Earth. I
ready to leave all the pain, sorrow and injustice behind me to find
eternal peace.
“
I’m sorry” I
said in a low and shaky whisper, “but I just couldn’t do it. There
was no way I was going to go through with it”
“
Then that’s
your mistake init?” said Barry with a snarl, “You put the nail in
your own coffin. You have no one to blame but yourself. If you just
followed my orders, we wouldn’t be in this situation would
we?”
“
I guess not”
I replied, “I wouldn’t take it back though”
“
I know you
wouldn’t have” said Barry, in such calm a tone that it made me feel
even more nervous then before.
Aaron? You may ask, How the
bloody hell did you wind up here?
That’s a question that can only
have a complicated answer. I ran away from my hometown to find new
places, far beyond the horizons. My life was so boring. There was
no hope for me as a human being. No one expected me to become
anyone of any importance. I was born scum and many assumed that I’d
die scum. I came from a council estate and I lived on benefits. I
wore tracksuits, hoodies and trainers.
From those last lines, I know
for a fact that your thinking of one word and one word only: Chav.
I know what many of you think of blokes like us. That word is
connected with connotations of hatred. You may think of me as
nothing more then a layabout, a vagabond and a waste of space. News
reports, TV programs and Films have made people fear guys like me.
When in retrospect it’s actually us who need the most help.
I was failing my subjects at
school. I couldn’t see anything in my future beyond a checkout job
or work at the local chippy. I would just become another number on
a spreadsheet of statistics. I would be living proof of a country
dieing within the grips of a global recession. I didn’t want that
for myself. I wanted to be someone. So I left my hometown and
started again elsewhere. I wanted a fresh start. I somehow wanted
to make a difference. I wanted the world to stop judging me because
of how I looked. I no longer wanted people to call me a “Chav”. I
wanted to make a change, one person at a time.
People always judge those who
appear different to the norm. Those who look different and live
differently are always thrown aside from society. We are still
people like you. We still have passions and emotions. We still want
to have a good life. We still want to be successful. We still have
dreams. We are still humans like you. Just because some people who
look like us do some horrible things, it doesn’t mean that all of
us are like that. I wanted to show the world this, by going against
what everyone expects from someone like me.
Along the way I went on some
flipping great adventures. I saw so much of England. I made many
new friends. I experienced so many different ways of life, which I
wouldn’t have been able to experience if I had stayed where I was.
Even though it had led to this rather sticky outcome, I wouldn’t
have traded one day back from that incredible road trip. I
discovered an England I never knew, I found myself within the
company of blokes of every kind and even found true love. Leaving
the world I was brought up in was the best decision I ever
made.
As I sat there in the wet grass
I knew that when that trigger was pulled, I’d die happy and
contented. A short life at sixteen but a life well spent in my
opinion. My mind had been expanded and filled with a wider
understanding of mankind from all walks of life, within the British
Isles of course. I accomplished what I set out to do. I left my
contained fish bowl world of depression and frustration, to venture
out and see what the world had to offer. It turned out that the
world had a lot to offer me, for a high price.
If you have the time on your
hands, I’d like to tell you of my travels. I’d like to tell you of
the places I went to, the people I met, the events I attended to
and how I came to be at death’s door before the gun of a famous
drug dealer. Every word is true. I swear it. Each experience, as
mad as they may sound, really did happen. I just hope that you’ll
like my story, whether you believe it or not.
My story begins in St.Ians.
St.Ians is a “historic market town” in East Anglia. It was the last
day of school. The Headmaster (Mr Bertgill) had called me to his
office from one of my classes. He called me in to talk about my
dreadful GCSE grades. When I say “talk about it” what I meant to
say is “moan about it”.
This was the moment I realised
that, in the way of education, I was a failure. From that news I
knew that I’d never get a job which would fulfil the need to live
in comfort. I would get a job I would hate. A job I’d dread going
to each morning because I was not qualified for anything else. I
didn’t want that for myself. I knew that I needed to do something
about this. I didn’t know at once what was to be done. All I knew
was that I needed to be free from this world of limitations. I
needed to escape.
CHAPTER ONE
We were sitting in the Head
Master’s office on that last day, just me and him, before we were
all meant to go to the main hall for the final assembly. He called
me here from my English class, just so he could tell me what a
useless scumbag I was, just so I could leave school knowing that
I’d never become anything.
His office was quite big, but
with all the filing cabinets that lined the walls it felt small and
compact. On the walls were some disgusting pieces of artwork made
by students. Out of all the Art Department’s produce, why Mr
Bertgill picked those pieces I have no idea. Mr Bertgill was behind
his desk, flicking through the papers which filled my personal
file.
Mr Bertgill was an old man with
balding grey hair, a crooked face like a retired boxer, the
dumbfounded expression of someone who was on a lot of medication
and was, by far, one of the most arrogant plebs you’d ever come
across.
“
You have
failed all of your GCSE’s except for one” said Mr Bertgill in his
strong Welsh accent and shaking his head, “where did you think this
would get you?”
“
I thought I
could do, like, graffiti and stuff” I replied,
“
That’s
vandalism!” said Mr Bertgill, without even lifting his head from
his paperwork, “it’s not a profession, you idiot”
“
What about
Banksy, sir?” I asked,
“
What?” he
asked,
“
What about
Banksy, he does graffiti and that for a living!”
“
Don’t you
backchat me!”
“
I wasn’t sir,
I was just saying….”
“
I don’t want
to hear it Connor, I’m your superior and you shall respect me. You
have wasted your time here at St.Ians School” said Mr Bertgill as
he rose from his seat, “this time of your life is so precious, as
it forms the days to come. It decides whether your life will be
easy or hard. Nonetheless you’ve squandered the time given to you.
Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“
No” I replied
meekly, “I mean…I tried my best and everything…”
“
Its obvious”
he interrupted, not allowing me to continue, “That your best just
wasn’t good enough”
He walked across the office,
opened the door and stood next to the opening staring at me.
Without a word he pointed to the doorway as a hint that it was time
for me to leave. I collected my rucksack before walking out into
the corridor. He slammed the door behind me with a mighty bang.
I have a little secret to tell
you about Teachers. They don’t care about you. The only reason they
want your grades to be high is to make the school look good. They
don’t give a toss about your well being or about your future. To
them it’s just a job, which is a bugger as their job should be
helping you get a job. Of course, like everything these days, money
always comes first doesn’t it? When will we all learn that it’s
just paper? Life’s too short to be worrying about little pieces of
green paper!
