The Blood Gang: An Excerpt.

This is the first part my novel. It hasn't been proof read so there will be spelling and grammar mistakes.

I hope you can read on and give me your thoughts.

The blood gang. Yeah the blood gang. I used to be apart of a team that didn't care. A coalition you may say, I had a connection to them, a bond, we were an alliance. With bloodied fists and tarnished minds. To this day, I have nightmares, I'm a family man with a wife and two children, Becky and Charlie, but I'm kept up all night, sometimes drinking bourbon to the early hours. I'm a man, with diluted prospects, I do write, in fact, I'm nearly finished a novel, but if I let it free, it might spawn a backlash from some unsavoury characters.

I live here, caught up in my own misery. I'm depressed and cut up, breaking apart at the seams. My mind interfered by demons, creatures so dark, so grizzly, so macabre. Their faces, those dirty faces. I can't sustain a proper conversation any more, my social status is depleting, and I fear my wife despises what I've become. Changed, yeah I've changed, I used to be a wild one, a lover, a true sexual God, or maybe half that, but I did well.

She swaggers into my study. Half drunk and half out of pride. She begins to slur her words. Now my wife is getting drunk and the relationship I kick-started is dying every minute of every godforsaken day. How depressed do I sound? How f------ up do I sound?

'You sit there, smug as f------, and that's all you do, just sit'

She puts me down, unrelentingly, and I take it. I must take it, she's a woman and I'm a man, the woman always wins the battle. Well in my world anyway. Her beautiful face in a state of rage, rage and love, that's what it is, a mixture of repent and lust, well half hearted lust. She won't forgive me for the hazy days, those days where I ran around in a motorbike with a gang of blood hungry heart stealer's.

Her lips are chapped due to the frosty days. But she still looks amazingly attractive, even though the rage is bubbling over in her little tight abdomen. She leaves the room, my Grace, my adorable Grace, scurrying off like a bored dog. And here I sit, dazzled by the ending of this book. A book that might end in glory or failure. It's not just about the money, I want my statement to be read. Of course I wasn't involved in the grittiness of their plots. But I was one of them, apart of the blood gang.

I rise from the chair. I open up a bottle of champagne, and I toast the ending of my story. Even though I rose with such elegance, my back hurts like f------. The laptop stares me down, the written word conveyed in such a gritty tone, I have finished it, and it might just finish me.

I take a drink of the bubbly. It's a gratifying taste, it goes down sweetly, smoothly, and I feel the battering of alcohol shooting through my sugary veins. Today is a day of reckoning, a day where the spotlight should be on me, the light of success. Success is a hard thing to strive for in this day and age, but I think I’ve struck enough bare bone, enough gold. To be a man of happiness, I must find it first, look beneath the bed of sadness and kill the boogie man that might reside there? But I think the man with the ugly face that creeps under the mattress is a myth. A myth that goes hand in hand with the other myths that people create.

The laptop screen turned off. It's time to walk from the hub of comfortability, it's time to face the fear and the beautiful face that is disgruntled. She is there for me, when she's not intoxicated. She's a caring, giving person, one with a heart of gold, when she induces alcohol, she has a heart of stone, a brick heart, that beats to her groaning voice.

Looking out the window first before I walk down the carpeted stairs. I see the snow trickle down the pane. Hearing the playful voices of the kids I created is a wonderful thing, at least they're enjoying their lives, at least I'm bringing them up with a smile on my bearded face. Looking on yet again, seeing the tress surrounded by a white mist, I wouldn't want to be a tree in weather that would snap the hands.

I turn away and move my legs forward slowly, reminding myself that this is my house too, that I'm in a bond with a woman I adore. Needing to remind myself shows the strains. I enter the hall and I look in the mirror, my face looks old. My beard needs trimming or shaved off entirely. My gaunt, skinny face and bloodshot eyes remind me of the days I didn't care much, didn't care about growing up and family values. Now, I'm placed under scrutiny. My kids love me, well I think they do. They tell me so every night, before they hit slumber.

I leave the hall and enter the living room. She sits at the oak table, encased in her beloved robe. She listens to the latest pop song on the tablet I bought her for Christmas, she sings away with a broken voice. She doesn't acknowledge me. I enter the kitchen and I open the cabinet, taking out a packet of aspirin, I grab a glass and drop them in like fishes back into the river. Needing the injection to help my fuzzy head, I drink up, the taste is deplorable, but they help, they really do. I then look in the fridge, there is a fresh piece of salmon that I should cook for dinner, but I couldn't care less about eating. My appetite has been inconsistent for years the stomach pains have become merciless.

Grace comes through, wobbling like jelly, drunk and speechless. Until she opens up her mouth, there is no growl surprisingly.

'Hey, I'm so sorry about earlier, I was just a little angry'

'It's okay' I said with sheer forgiveness.

She moves forward into me. Taking my hands and hugging my bones. The warmth is arresting. I've not felt that In a while, the completeness of love. My heart jumps like a hurdler, my skin bubbles with goosebumps. I feel emotional for the first time in months. Not to extent that tears will trickle down my tired face, but feeling slightly tender and affectionate is good for a partly broken soul. As the hug diminishes, we both supply order. She removes herself from my flat stomach, she then smiles and walks back into the living room, ruffling her hair in the process.

The little feet enter the house, cold but rejuvenated, their eyes big and bold, their little fingers red and shivering. Charlie and Becky, my two godsends, pretty and flamboyant. They take off their shoes and they speak to me in their own language, I nod my head as they both run to their Mother. Smiling my head off happens only when I see them happy. They are my world. Sounds cliché, but it's true, they keep me alive and honest, they keep me from just giving up on life. They're the antidote.

I place my jacket on to face the frosty night. I tell my wife that I'm away for a few beers at a bar I know very well. She might be drunk, but she dotes on those children. No harm will come their way.

I close the door and wave to my Children through the little window. Their smiles enlighten me as I graft through the bundles of snow. My feet submerged and freezing, I'm caught up in the weather as the remaining warmth leaves my body. A few yards from the bar, I spot a homeless man sitting grumbling to himself. He's wrapped in a sleeping bag with his hands bearing the low temperature. I keep going until I feel something touch me, it's his hand, a hand so white and gaunt. Looking at him with a expression of concern I place some loose change into his paper cup. But he wants to talk, read an eulogy from the inner core of his battered, drunken head.

'God oh God, preach to God for forgiveness, and he may send an angel of peace and tranquillity to your doorstep. Me, I've wasted my chance and now I'm here, I can't even dance any more or speak correctly any more'

Looking at the complete sadness and regret on the man's face. He used to be an ambassador for all things great and good, now he's drinking himself into oblivion, beating his insides, killing his once absolute mind. I feel for the spectator that looks at the people that walk by like robots on a mission to get their daily, expensive coffee. Not knowing his back story, I haven't got a dossier on the homeless, but I know he is hurting.

He may have family. But now he would be unrecognisable to them, a bearded, skinny soul that looks at those sparkly stars every night for answers, for rejuvenation. He is on my list, if I make any money from this book, I'll supply him with money to go to rehab, to get clean and detoxified. It's my destiny.

I must leave the man. I shake his hand and he kisses mine. I even catch a glimpse of his infectious smile, through the beard, through those tired eyes, he can still offer someone a smile and friendship. My heart goes out to him. He will keep being alienated and drafted into a faction, the faction of the lost. I'll come back to him with a more trusted mind, it's a little fuzzy and incomplete right now. God bless him.

The bar is lit and stinking of stale beer. An odour I'm very familiar with , but I like the place. It has that feel to it, that raw, rock feeling , I feel like a punk amongst the elite. My tired eyes are shutting bit by bit , but I'm here for a drink, a soothing infusion of beer, or even a whiskey or two. The banners are up. 'Buy a beer, get a shot free' I might take the plunge and embrace that very dangerous option. The bar is dingy , yeah very dark, but I feel forced to love it.
The bar top is wet, spillages are common when the drunks have too much. I'm one of them usually, dragging the p--- out of being p---. Just say, I'm a man that can't say no. No to the alcohol dripping or pouring down my throat. The décor is individualistic, there is no other bar the same around town. Yeah they try to copy, but It's the big , bold colours that set this place apart.

I order a beer with the free shot. I down the shot and make one of those comedic faces. I then take a sip of the cooling beer to erase the taste of that disgusting liquid. That first remedial taste of beer is enthralling. The alcohol has hit me on the mind, it's flowing through my bloodstream, finally I can take a back seat and enjoy the night ahead. A night that might end in a blur. As I drink the first beer amidst the younger pack, as they sing to the latest music craze, I turn around and spot an enchanting face staring into my perplexed eyes . Why stare at me like that? Like you want me? She must, she really must ? Her blonde hair dangles like a clock-hand, her refreshing , alluring visage excites me. But she must be 10 years younger ?

Her blue piercing eyes. That perfect frame, those pouted lips. She 's perfection. She begins to walk over to me. And then I get a snapshot of my wife's face embedding my mindset. What is going to happen ? How is this going to plan out? I can't take a piece of her and put it a locket of remembrance, but she is so enticing. She places her purse upon the wooden frame. And she smiles at me , I smile back, I feel nervous and uncomfortable. I feel like a young boy tasting female interaction for the first time.

'Hi there'

'Hi'

'What's your name?'

'Jack Francis, and yours?'

'I'm Sara Jackson'

She keeps generating that warming glow. That infectious smile that would melt the heart of any man.
'So what brings you here'

'Just here for a drink, a quiet drink'

'Cool, same'

I can tell she is interested in me. Why? I'm an old fool with a bad back, a beard and drinking habit that escalates every time I take a swig. My rubbery skin is a terrible contrast to her tanned rind. As she orders a drink, I can't help but take my eyes off of her, the glow that transcends.

She sips on a vodka and coke. A simple drink for an extraordinary woman. She then moves closer into my proximity, her assets disarming any sort of self-control. I look into her eyes as she keeps coming into my space.

'So do you want to hang tonight?'

I take a deep breath, my eyes bulge like they're about to burst from my head. My posture damaged by her statement of intent, I slouch over the bar, my legs begin to feel like jelly. Tonight, a woman of true class and beauty, has asked me to come home with her. Is this a dream, or has reality just struck me with a lighting bolt.

'Come on, let's go, my apartment isn't far from here'

I try be reluctant. I really do. But I can't hold back, I can't place a barrier in my head, or one in front of me. This is the scene, the scene of a man about to cheat on his wife. A man who hasn't had sex in months, a man sorry to God for his sins. But, this may be the biggest sin I have ever committed, a sin of seediness and deceit. The place is loud and I can hardly hear her voice, but I know she has a voice of an angel, and I have one that is gritty and out of tune.

We clasp hands. We withdraw from the alcohol for now. Her hand feels soft and fragile. We walk from the dark hole into the artificial lights, the noise of the bar music still ringing in my ears. She places her finger out to force a taxi to stop. We both enter it, shivering from the cold. She smiles at me and I smile back. I've now placed myself into an unknown situation. But it thrills me.
The taxi halts outside a block of apartments. I pay the driver and we both release ourselves from the car into the cold air. But, that arresting glow is still there, enlightening me, forcing me to stare on. She takes out her keys and uses a special device to open the main doors. We're in, and I'm drastically feeling out of place.

She opens the door to a place of grandeur. The place painted in soothing white, gleaming and immaculate. It looks like she takes pride in her home as well as her appearance. We walk into her room. The red covers like a bleeding heart.

'Would you like a drink'

'Yeah why not'

Sara leaves me in the room for a few minutes. I look around. I see jewellery sparkling like a pair of angel eyes on top of her equipped dressing table. I sit back on the bed and I look in the big mirror. My reflection, my complexion still grey and my hair still unkempt. The grey jumper look makes me feel out of sync with this dream, the brown trousers make me look like an ageing man. Well, I actually am. My age clock isn't stopping and my beard isn't getting any blacker. So, tonight might be the last thump of passion for my tarnishing, sore body.

Sara walks back in. She hands me a glass of wine. I gulp it down like a possessed drunk, absorbing the alcohol like bacteria through a cut. The infusion of alcohol calms me down and gives my inhibitions a smack on the cheek. She refills my glass.

'Do you want me drunk?'

'Ah, maybe'

She laughs and do to. We seem to have begun a perfect bond. A bond that I used to have with Grace, my wife. She's probably sleeping now, having a drunk dream. Dreaming about me, I think not. She's probably picturing a better, more refined man. One with muscles and a lean chest, with an posh accent. When I think about it, that kind of man would suit Sara. Why has she chosen me over all the men that lingered in that bar? It confuses me and spooks me.
'So what do you do for a living?'

That question poses threat. Should I tell her about the book, that book that I've been writing for many months. Or should I tell her that I work in a supermarket, organising change and stacking shelves. I could go for the easy option. But I let it free, the temptation is too much. I can't confine it just to my heart.

'Well I've kind of written a book about my past, like a memoir, you may say'

'Interesting, so let's dig into your past then'

'Well, I've not always been a quiet, consoled individual, I used to be in a gang, a notorious gang'

'Wow'

'Not really'

'It's interesting'

'Yeah it is a little'

'Go on'

'Well, I was apart of an alliance, but I was never committed much of the crime, the other guys did most of it, they terrorized the streets'

'What was the gang's name?'

'That I can't tell you, just say, we were ruthless'

'Okay'

If I could, I would sweep the it all under the rug, and not speak of it again. But the fable is deeply embedded in my mind, the blood gang, a story of brutality. She avoids asking me any more questions about it, I am relieved. The beaut in front of me pours me another drink, my liver will now bask in poison, and my eyes will enter a blurry stage. I feel drunk already.

As I drink more and more, my head begins to feel heavy and my hands start to feel light, light enough just to levitate. We begin to hug casually, until she thinks up a drastic plan. She walks over to the dressing table and takes out a golden case. She opens it up elegantly and places it on the bed. In it, lies white powder. High quality cocaine.

'Come on, just a take a little'

'I don't know, not took it in years'

'If you take it sparingly it's okay. It won't hurt'

I look at the white substance. I have flashbacks of my younger days, the days I didn't give a f------ about dying or baring myself to drugs. Now, I hesitate, one sniff could entertain a heart attack. I'm not as fit as I used to be. But stupidly I snort a little then more and more until I feel a hit of euphoria, a bubbling urge just to lose myself.

She closes the case as I lie back. My pounding heart reminds me of when I jammed my finger in the door. That throbbing feeling. I lie here subdued and thinking, thinking of paradise. A paradise so riveting. Palm trees and a tantalising sea. I close my eyes and then open them, I'm still here, near enough participating in sexual games. I've made a mess but I'm going to play in it, I want to have sex with Sara, I really do. I don't want the urge to deplete.

She moves in and we share a kiss. She then places a white pill into my mouth, a swallow it, it hits my stomach like a penny in a well. She begins to unzip her dress, she stands there naked. In full bloom, her voluptuous body enthrals me. We unfurl the covers and we both lie there, with lust on our minds. It's time.....

Waking up. The shades pulled shut. We both lie in darkness. I try to fix my eyes but they're blurred. It seems every morning when I wake up, my eyes are watery and blurry. I rub them to try and eradicate the problem. My head is completely and utterly messed up, I can't think intelligently or with any clarity. The drugs I induced last night have caught up with me like the common cold. I rise up, Sara is still sleeping away the alcohol and the cocaine. Putting on my clothes quietly and efficiently is challenging but I get there.

I put on my shoes. And I leave her. I walk with subtlety embracing every movement. Closing the door, I'm in cold hallway. My teeth feel like they've been bashed and my jaw seems loose. The aftermath feels like hell, the comedown they call it, the hangover from the depths of pain. I walk on through the hallway, on edge and paranoid. I made love to the true beauty, drunk and drugged, that makes it seem seedy. I open the main doors, the rush of fresh air and the cold ruffle my body. I feel it generating into my lungs.

I stand outside my house. With my hands in my pockets. I look like a scared school boy, awaiting punishment. Biting the skin from my fingers, I draw blood. The taste of it is sickening, bitter and alcohol infused. I don't think I'll get drunk off my own blood, but trying isn't bad. The shades are shut in my house too, she must still be sleeping. The morning hangover for her will be setting in, she'll rise, a broken woman that needs mending. I can't mend her, I'm not the man to do that. A sure as well should be.

I've committed sin. I'm a cheater, a man that has participated in a sexual encounter. Feeling ashamed and inglorious. My finger bloodied, my whole body sore and wet, I don't think I'll be welcomed with open arms. Taking a deep breath, I take my keys out and I unlock the door. I close it behind me. I spot home made cupcakes. Vibrantly coloured with icing, the kids and their mum must have made them. I should have been there to saviour the moment, not out there silencing my sexual urges.

I unzip my jacket pocket and I take out a fresh cigarette. My bitterly cold hands struggle to grab the lighter, even in the warmth of the house. I take a needed drag, the infusion of nicotine is arresting, now I feel calm enough to walk up the stairs into the bedroom. I take my jacket off and hang it up on the door. She lies there, curled up and deeply nestled in slumber. Watching on, feeling a sense of regret niggling at me, like a knife in the gut. I can't wipe the slate clean, I might need to confess all.

I open the door slightly to the kids room. They're both sleeping away the morning frost. I look at them and smile. Knowing that they're there gives me strength. I feel like I've neglected them, I feel my heart hasn't been in their lives the past few months. Writing that book has taken a lot of my time, it has consumed me. But, as I stare on, I make a decision, I'm not writing another. I need my children to grow up knowing they have a Father that puts his all into the cause. No one is here eternally, but I'll fight for them until my last breath.

The radiant wallpaper and the night light still shining keeps the room from looking generic. As I leave Becky wakes up, she shouts Daddy. I turn around and a smile at her beautiful face. By giving her a massive hug, she knows she's safe. Her eyes close again. She's ready to bask with the angels in her dreams.

I sit in the study. I switch on the laptop and stare at the writing that floods my senses. It's evokes imagery, it provokes bitterness. I've written something that I might not send out, is it worth it? To bring up my past, to serve up a book full of rage and dishonour. I look and look, reading and reading, taking in the words, the meaning, the f------ up meaning. I've lived a life full of ungratifying moments, I've struck gold and I've struck brick, my life has been a whole breakdown of seriousness and stupidity.

I begin to hear footsteps behind me. Then I feel a heavy slap to the back of my head. It's Grace, and she's in an enraged mood.

'Where the f------ have you been?'

'I was out at the bar, I came home in the early hours'

'Don't f------ lie to me, you were out with another woman'

'No'

'Yes, you cheat, you f------ cheat'

I stand up and explain to her that I never cheated. Though, that makes me a straight out liar. She punches me on the head and the chest. I grab her wrists to prevent more blows. I then let her go, she stares with repent in her eyes. She places her hands on her face and rubs the dead flakes of make-up off and returns to her screaming fit.
'I want you out'

'Come on, I never did anything, you can't just throw me out'

'I want you out by today'

'Let me explain'

'No'

'We have kids'

'You should have thought of that when you hooked up with a s---'

'I never'

'Just get the hell away from me'

She leaves me to dwell on what I've done. My heart does feel a little low at the moment, I'm on the verge of losing everything. Everything I built, everything I fought for, and because I couldn't restrain myself. Today will be rainy, I know it, days like this are never dry. I won't plead, I won't get down on my knees. I'll grab my s----- and I'll leave. I'll fight for my kids, they'll not grow up without a Father, they'll still get to see me. I hope.

Grabbing my suitcase, a tear begins to surface. She doesn't look at me, I swerve past her slowly and I reach the kids. Becky and Charlie look at me puzzled and perplexed. Kissing both of them sends a sense of regret through me. Walking away from them feels like I've lost two important organs, I've committed the sin, I now must face the consequences.

I open the door to the outside. The cold air hits me hard, I'm not looking forward to travelling aimlessly....