Ten Foot Titans By Rich Mills

Long summer Sundays when I was a kid were spent running around, plastic machine gun gripped tightly in my hands, throwing myself onto the hot concrete as imagined bullets flew overhead. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat. Andy came running full pelt down the ten-foot, Uzi tucked close to his side, spraying invisible hot lead along the side of Brown Owl's fence. Jamie bursts out of his back garden gate and is caught in the cross-fire as I open up with all I've got. Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh. Leaping out of the way he crashes into Old Man Les's meticulously manicured privet hedge.

Bouncing off he rolls across the floor, as the sound of caps crack from his small side arm. The sweet smouldering smell of gun powder fills the air as I get up off the ground, slamming myself against Brown Owl's garage door. Peppered with holes, the dry rotten wood nearly gives way under the strain. All goes quite around me. Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum. My heart pounds up inside my throat.

I know Andy is close by, I could smell him. He smells of sweet summer grass stains and the distinct mustiness boys get when they only get bathed once a week. I look behind me, Jamie has positioned himself behind the brick wall my Dad built at the end of our garden. He signals to me, I don't know what he means. I look at him quizzically. He points at his gun and pulls out a small strip of red paper from the back of it. He's out of ammo. Patting himself down he shrugs and looks at me with helpless eyes. I have a reel of caps in my pocket, but Andy and his Uzi is between me and Jamie, and him being able to reload.

He is stranded and defenceless, a sitting duck Andy is waiting to pick off. We wait an age, as the sun starts to dip behind the terraced houses at the far end of the ten-foot. Casting long shadows in the fading evening light. I squint into the fading sun. The dusk light has a magical quality and I feel as strong as my shadow is long. I can do this. Time is running out, but I know I can make it. I have to.

Blazing across the gap between Jamie and myself, I open up with all I have. Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh. Andy is taken by surprise. He looks up from the kneeling position he is in, shoe laces in hand, Uzi on the floor by his side. Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh. UH! I throw the reel of caps towards Jamie, they land at his feet. Andy grabs up the Uzi and starts to return fire. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat. I trip and crash headlong into Old Man Les's prize privet. The barrel of my gun is trapped. I'm defenceless. I try to pull my gun free. Jamie fumbles to reload. Andy closes in on us. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat. I'm hit. Everything goes into slow-motion. I crumple and twist as I go down.

I hit the ground. The light is fading. Jamie stands above me, raising his pistol. Bang! Bang! Bang! In the far off distance somewhere I hear Andy grunt and gurgle. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat. And then the sound of a body hitting the floor. Plastic clatters on concrete. Andy is down. Ugh! I see Jamie out of my eye corner slump against the wall and slide slowly down. Silence.

We lay there we three, motionless. These once great ten-foot titans have been silenced as we succumb to the sunset. Silence surrounds the fallen heroes. Sweet silence. Sunset silence. Silence. "Richard, I'm running your bath. Time to come in, you have school in the morning." Silence. "Richard, did you hear me?!" Silence. "Richard?!" Silence. Then from further away, "Jamie?!" Silence. From further still, "Andy?!" Silence.

We slumbering giants gradually awake. Slowly we rise, as our lethal wounds magically heal. We three giants cast our last shadows. The Sunday sun sinks behind the roof-tops. Our shadows fade. We are boys again. "Coming mum!" we chant in a united chorus.

Copyright © Rich Mills 2005

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