Chris' Return & The Body At Meadway?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
At 14, we become undesirably involved in the disposable of something peculiar.

Submitted: October 26, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 26, 2015



Chris’ Return & The Body At Meadway




A message, from Chris. Chris Williams, that was rare. I wasn't sure if the Internet in Cyrpus ran through some sort of clay modem, but it was at strangely sporadic intervals that Chris was ever able to make the trip online. I didn't want to waste contact, it was probably going to be another year before I spoke to him again.


"Hey, how's Cyprus?"


Sometimes I thought these sorts of questions were uncompromisingly generic, mundane, and fucking obvious. The limitations were good or bad, but seeing as I hardly ever spoke to the kid, it was one of the few occasions it was relevant, anything could've happened in the last year.


"I'm not in Cyrpus, I'm in England."


That explains it, Cyprus not yet accustomed to a life beyond clay. I think that my presuppositions of Cyrpus were purely based on stereotypical Greek elements. I actually knew fuck all about Cyprus.


"How long you back for?" I typed, before it suddenly occurred to me that there was a huge change. Chris' profile picture, a chelsea badge?! Chris was enamoured with Michael Owen and Liverpool, just when did he alter to Chelsea. Who altered their team ever. I knew Owen had left Liverpool but this was slightly extreme, if not born out of bitterness. But it made no sense, it's like you're not wife leaving you and to spite the situation you end up with a man instead. You don't need to leave women, you don't need to leave your team. Although Chelsea were good now, that was an understatement, they were exceptional. Chelsea were like a school bully, not the kind of bully that would harass you for your lunch money, more like the kind that had filthy rich parents and would instead throw too much money at you and purchase the best elements of every other kids lunch, therefore building a super lunch, whilst everyone else was forced to consume an amalgamation of average snacking items. They were the Waitrose to everyone else's Lidl. 


"For good, I'm staying home now."


Wow, so this was news, but he said England, England was vague. This didn't ascertain that he was anywhere near me. I pushed for a more narrow location.




Well, that improved proximity considerably. But where in stevenage? It was probably gonna be miles away still.


"Essex Road."


Oh, so, round the corner. Wow. That was unexpected. Chris had moved halfway across the globe while i fluttered twice across the town. Having before been situated just a street apart, yet again through chance we were now a stone throw away from each other once again. The next day we arranged to meet after school. My school. Chris didn't have school, the commute to Cyprus was a slight stretch.


Bizarrely, Chris looked almost exactly as I expected him to. Slightly taller, his cheeks still a palette brighter than most, a distinctive grin embezzled within him. The awkwardness was lost in the strides towards each other, and straight away I wanted to show him my new pride. The street. I began to fill Chris with whom he'd be meeting and all these crazy times and all these stupid things and all these funny moments and that's when he ran into them. Harry. Gary.


Gary presented himself as always. Quiet. Humble. Harry did not possess this ability, he began speaking on what he erroneously thought was a humorous accent. Chris didn't look impressed. Gary looked embarrassed. Where to take him, just what do you do first when you have a year of content to unload.




Meadway was a strange place, a fan favourite for fly tipping, there was always something peculiar harbouring the underneath of the bridge there. Just the other side of the town, it seemed people thought this was a fair dumping ground. I hoped there'd be something unusual there, something to validate all my claims. Once there, Gary noticed a long running stream barely deep enough to solicit flowing water. It was red. Red with what?


Blood. That was Harry's response, blurted out manically in yet another stupid voice. We followed the stream. I didn't believe it was blood, but I didn't have a better alternative. No source. No validation.


The light had strolled away from us with some pace, and the colour of the pool was no longer visible. As we turned to leave, an engine growled with increasing voice.


I was too unsure. I made my decision.


"Quick, hide."


My instructions were carried out with little haste, and a car emerged from the bridge, turned right and headed past all the other dumping sites. That was odd, why so far? Turning right was our direction, and he was nearing. I felt as unnerved as I did curious. The car stopped and the lights changed. We were all fixated. His light was our only source of sight. The drivers door opened and a figure lost in the darkness stepped out. His features were too distant to make out but his mannerisms distinctive. His head through itself from left to right and back again, he covered every direction, in a sort of tedious manner as when you learn about the pointless directions in school. Once North, East, South and west are covered, then north north west, followed by East South East, just became pointless and monotonous. If you ever required directions that specific and close, just tap someone on the shoulder and point: "over there." No need for such ballache. 


The boot opened, and the head swung around again. This guy needed asurity about his solitary mission. He lifted something long and wrapped in a bin liner. Harry gasped and the light disappeared.




My second and final instruction was followed even quicker than the first. We ran through unknown fields in a direction we never had. I was sure it would lead us to the entrance near the farm. It needed to, otherwise we might be adorned in bin liners come the end of the night. My eyes had accustomed to the light and caught sight of the exit I predicted. We ran through and panted breath filled the tunnel.


I looked up, and I eyed Chris. A few moments passed as I retained my respiratory abilities.


"Well...." I panted. "Welcome to Berwick."


© Copyright 2020 TomBerwick. All rights reserved.

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