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I pause as a wave of guilt hits me, but it's a big mistake because it gives another one a chance to attack me. I feel a sharp pain in my arm as a knife penetrates my flesh. I swing my baton wildly until it hits something. I grit my teeth, ignoring the pain. I manage take down three more before the rest of them give up and turn and run. I stand there bellowing like an animal amongst the broken bodies of my rivals. I am victorious.
I am a professional. I get the job done.
I reach into my car and pull out a fire extinguisher and put out the flames.
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The blood is pouring out of me. I need to get moving again before someone else tries their luck. I lower myself into my seat, my whole right side throbbing. As I start the engine, I wrap a tourniquet around my arm. I patch myself up on the move, because I can't stop. I have only half an hour left to reach my destination. Those people are waiting for me, and I can't let them down.
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My right arm begins to tingle and go numb. They must have caught an artery. My head is swimming, but I have to carry on. All the houses and apartment block begin to melt into each other. I have to concentrate on the navigation system on my dashboard so I don't get lost. I can't even begin to think about the journey back. I have to focus on the job in hand. I have to answer the call.
My breathing is becoming strained and I'm fading fast. Eventually I reach my destination, but there's the final run to the front door. I go into the back of the car and take the case out. My arm has nearly lost all feeling, and even holding onto the handle of the case is absolute agony.
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As I limp towards the door, the bandage comes apart and my blood starts to spill out all over the pavement. I press the buzzer on the apartment door.
There's a burst of static from the speaker before someone answers. "Who is it?" I press my identification to the camera next to the speaker. "Please... let me in," I mumble.
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There's a loud buzz and then the door swings open. As it shuts behind me I collapse against it. I can feel the cold steel against my forehead, and it wakes me up enough to drag myself up the stairs. After an eternity I reach the door, and I tap on it with my baton. The hallway is flooded with light as the door opens. I slump to the ground.
"Have you got it?" a voice says from above me.
I push the case forward. The person in front of me picks it up and opens it. "Is...everything there?" I ask, as I begin to slip from consciousness. "Please, tell me... Is everything there?"
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The person stood in front of me mumbles to himself before replying, "Six cans of Stella, two Snickers, three tubes of Pringles and a packet of blue Rizlas...yup it's all there." He crouches down and put some cash in my blood covered hand. "Thanks a lot, keep the change," he says.
"I'm a professional, I get the job done," I say, and then I'm gone.
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Fiction - The Horrible Death of Tony Clare: Retribution and Revolt By Sean Davey
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Tony Clare, British Premier, bringer of war, pestilence, famine and social impotence, died today. Killed by an unknown man. A man driven not by his hatred for the Prime Minister, but by his own need to right the wrongs that Tony Clare's society was responsible for.
A society which neglected its own people, raped the land, taxed the workers and killed the innocent.
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Fiction - Dig Your Own Hole By Joe Hakim
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Things were going well. We were on schedule and under budget, Chris Chambers, so my boss was chuffed to bits. "It's going to be a good year," he said slapping me on the back, a huge shit-eating grin plastered across his face. As he looked around the building site, he tipped back his hard-hat and his chest expanded like a proud father watching at his children running around.
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Fiction - Load the Cards By Sean Davey
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Loading up the cards and I start thinking. I think about casino's, and all that is.
Imagine a building dear reader, where degenerate, and often eccentric behaviour is not only the norm. its positively encouraged. Heavy drinking and gambling is as much a part of the punters mind as work, or going for a meal. Its just what they do to get their kicks.
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Fiction - Charity Begins in the Toilet By Shep
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Like most stories this one starts at the beginning with a middle aged man kissing a middle aged woman on the middle of the lips. I'm not sure where the middle starts or ends but I'm fairly sure its centre is an equal distance from these two extremes.
The man's head jacks back and forth like a mother bird trying to vomit out some nourishment to her
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Fiction - Goths in Denim (I only dress like a Goth!) By Jason Ince
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'That can't be the time!' I scream, staring at the clock-slash-radio-slash-CD player. This is the last time I try a DVD marathon within one day, I'll kill Stanny for suggesting it to me. The phone starts to vibrate before the ringtone kicks in. It's Clark's tone...again, 'damn you, Clark!'
I charge across the room and leap over the chair and snatch the mobile.
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Fiction - Absinthe - A Cautionary Tale By Sean Davey
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In pursuit of the perfect high, man invented absinthe, and I among others regularly enjoy its powerful effects. But on some days, store-bought brands are far too timid for the task at hand. On these days we need the homemade stuff.
Created in garages and lofts, jam packed with wormwood and all those other alpha-terpenes to get the brain synapses into full gear.
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Fiction - Punishment By Nick Quantrill
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Punishment by local crime-fiction writer and thisisull.com contributor,
Nick Quantrill, has won a nationwide short-story competition run by HarperCollins.
Entrants were invited to submit a story of no more than 1,000 words in the
crime-fiction/thriller genre.
Here's what the judges had to say about Punishment :
'We were impressed with the use of
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Fiction - Friday Feeling By Nick Quantrill
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Friday 3pm
It was building up to being another busy Friday afternoon shift. It was probably no busier than any other shift, but the extra tiredness that Detective Constable Maynard felt by this point made them feel that much longer. He had been sent to Young's general store in East Hull straight after attending a suspicious death over on the other side of the city.
It was
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Fiction - The Morning After By Joe Hakim
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They'll be here soon.
There's nothing much to do other than wait, so I make another strong cup of coffee and light
up another cigarette. Even these seemingly arbitrary actions are cast into a new focus now.
This patch of time I'm occupying is a bridge - a bridge that spans the space between
the way my life used to be and the way it's going to be. I look around my living room
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Fiction - In A Room By Joe Hakim
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I wish there were bars so I could hold them, wrap my fingers around the cold steel and press my face in between them, but it's just a room, I'm in a dark room with no windows and no features, so I just sit and think and think and think.
I am a captive, a hostage in a foreign country. I'm apart from my family and friends and I don't know if I'll ever see them again.
Every so
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Fiction - Buried In The Past By Joe Hakim
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Arriving back in Hull, the first thing that hits me is just how much hasn't changed.
As I walk down Princes Ave, I look at all the café bars that have sprang up to replace
the odd little shops and businesses that used to line it, but it still feels the
same somehow. There's a kind of progress, I suppose - even if progress means it's
starting to resemble everywhere else in Britain -
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Fiction - Red Carpet Blues By Steve Rudd
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'One more word out of you, and it'll be your last - I promise.'
The ice-cold gun nudging Ellie's temple was motivation enough for her to keep her mouth shut, as she trembled with fear. She daren't even sob in case her captor construed that any form of noise was reason enough to blow her brains out without further ado.
So much for being a superstar in her own right,
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Fiction - 'I Do' By Steve Rudd
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Nobody told me marriage would be like this. I thought it would be bliss, day in and day out,
but problems soon surfaced, after our hastily arranged elopement in good old Gretna - that bizarre little settlement that straddles the border between England and Scotland as though it can't quite decide where it stands; where it belongs; which side of the metaphorical fence it is
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Fiction - Two Sides : A Friday Night Out In Hull By Joe Hakim
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I'm just finishing off at work, watching the clock and loading the pot-wash with plates and cups,
waiting for Sarah to start her shift so I can go home.
It's been a really busy day, so I'll be glad to see the back of the fuckin' place.
I've been working at Sparks cafè bar on Newland Ave for over a year, but it's only been in
the past couple of months it's got really busy.
Fridays are
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Fiction - Complicity Part 6 By Nick Quantrill
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Complicity is the new crime-fiction novella set in Hull featuring
Detective Sergeant Coleman and Detective Constable Maynard.
The thisisull.com serialisation is accompanied by the stunning black and
white photography of Roland Standaert, which illustrates the story and takes a unique look at the city.
Complicity and other stories are available for free.
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Fiction - Gloomy Sunday By Joe Hakim
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As we got closer I could see it framed against the horizon. From this distance it just looked like a huge black shape, like a giant lump of coal or something. "Jeezus, it's huge," I said. "Yeah, I'm guessing it's a male," Mike said. "Could be about fifty tonnes of whale washed up down there." Mike was a marine biologist.
He'd been given the task of studying
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