Street Car #1 : Blaze of Sorrow It was a cold dark night in Manchester, England; he stood on the corner beneath the streetlight that didn't work. The street he was on was not unlike any other in Manchester, a series of detached houses strung off into the distance disappearing into the light fog. The lights that actually worked glowed yellow and barely pierced the mist. There was a slight sound and then a swift silent movement around him and he was broken into. Various shaped instruments were placed into its keyhole against his will and he felt violated as the items were turned this way and that. He would have acted on this injustice, by god he would have taught his attacker a lesson except for the fact that he wasn't sentient (which is always a big drawback). The figure climbed gently in causing him to sway slightly, he breathed and the air escaping clouded from the cold. The figure reached below the dash and after a few minutes found what he was looking for. The ignition fired and the figure gunned the engine. Just as the engine roared into life so would (and should) the car have felt outraged at such a rude awakening, but again lack of sentience was a major obstacle. His air conditioner was turned on and his insides warmed slowly but surely. The figure placed a bag on the passenger seat and closed the door with a thump. 'Oi!' shouted the car breathlessly and without sound. The figure coughed from the cold bitter air at his lungs and then proceeded to adjust his gloves, ensuring they were snug and correct. He closed his fingers around the steering wheel, the cars particularly sensitive spot, and caressed it for a moment before shifting the gear stick to first and pulling away through the crisp silence of the street; punctuated by nothing more than a squeal of the tyres when turning the corner at the end of the street and disappearing out of view. In a house about a mile away… "Goodnight son! Sleep tight" a loving father said whilst kissing his son on the fore head. He stood for a second and smiled as he watched his son curl up and scrunch his face in an effort to get to sleep. He thought of how his life would have been without him but to no avail, there would be nothing; he got on with his wife but they only stayed together for the sake of their child. At night they slept in the same bed but never with each other. They were more like good friends sharing a house than husband and wife. He left the room turning off the light on his way. "'Night!" his son called as he shut the door. He stood back against the door and was a lost traveller in his own mind; his map mostly blank, only a few photographs to mark the major landmarks. He scanned them on the wall. They all shared a common theme, he stood there with Joshua and his wife was on the other side; but also there was the fact that he looked happy in each one. So did she; they both looked happy together. She was away at the moment, away on business for two days. It would do her good he had told her, to get away from things for a few days what with all the shit he had at the moment. She had wanted to take Joshua as well, just to get him out of the way of all the trouble, but it was a business trip after all and she couldn’t get permission. He missed her. He made his decision when she returned, and when he had sorted all this ‘stuff’ out he would have the most perfect night and he would ask her to re- affirm their wedding vows with him. Not for Joshua but for him. Outside the car slowed to a halt but the engine remained on rumbling and stuttering. One of the lights upstairs blinked off. And only the one next to it and the one downstairs remained lit. The window wound down and a hand emerged from the car; in its grip was a bottle with a rag appearing from the end. The rag was lit and the car felt the impression of the heat on its leather trim momentarily, it wavered and was hurled towards the house crashing through the window igniting the contents in an almighty baptism of fire. Did the car shed a tear; or was it just the condensation, turning back to a liquid from the heat? The car sped off; this time with no protest, glad to get away from there, from the screams and cries for help. He ‘awoke’ the next morning in unfamiliar surroundings, the morning dew dripped from his wheel arches and he felt sadness, not because he had been uprooted from his comfortable existence as a family car. Not because he would never again feel the joy and content ness that came with being used lovingly and treated well, but for the family in the house that night; the scream that came from the upstairs window as the man shouted, pleaded and prayed for somebody to help he and his son. Pleas, that fell on deaf ears. It was to be the first, in a long line of sadness' for this car. He had been initiated into a car 'pool'; a string of cars up and down the country, stolen and deposited to be taken again by another dealer, thief, murderer or anybody else in need of a ride. However they - they are stories for another time. For now he would take his days as they came and hope that somebody remembered to fill him up once in a while. END <The in between stories go here> End of the Line. The volley of gunfire rang out from the large building, the doors burst open and two masked men took flight down the steps. One clutched a bag tightly while the other dropped his and stooped to pick it up; a crowd gazed out through the glass door, which had now settled back to it's closed position. The bumbling thief raised his gun and unleashed a shot towards his former hostages; but it did no harm as the glass door was bullet proof. The door to the car slammed shut and another hung open, two expectant faces looked at him and he literally dived, head first into the back seat. The green VW they were driving, not for the first time in it's existence, squealed as it pulled away. The open door wobbled slightly before being slammed home. An observant onlooker may have noted the registration; TR0U BL3. The VW had come along way since Manchester (half way across the country to be exact and was showing signs of wear; he wore them proudly like battle scars. So far he'd got away with a lot, who knows how long that'd last. The fat man sat in the passenger's seat, and dunked a ginger biscuit into his tea. "Sure you don't want one?" he asked his tall slim partner sitting in the driver's seat. "Na! I'm err…fine" Base to All units Robbery in progress, Natwest Bank on Nixon street. Getaway car headed south on <insert appropriate street name here>. Registration 'Tango' - 'Romeo' - 'zero' - 'Umbrella' - ' Bravo' - 'Lima' - 'Three'. Suspects are armed and dangerous. "Base this is 'Whiskey' - two - Nine. We'll take." Acknowledged 'Whiskey' - two - nine. The car pulled away and the only squealing came from inside the car, as the hot tea spilt into the fat man's lap. The man in the front of the car whipped off his mask to reveal short-cropped hair which he ran his fingers through. "What the fuck was that about man? Huh! Stupid bastard… what? Does it take a lot of practice, being that stupid." The driver glanced to the left and pulled sharply left, "We'll sort that shit out when we're safe. Now just let me drive!" He changed lanes and turned right this time. " I..I didn't mean to, I was just fucking about." The second thief spoke taking off his mask. "Fucking about! It's our money you're fucking about with." A siren started up and a police car pulled into view. "Shut the fuck up you two and let me drive, for God's sake!" He slammed his foot down and the needle on the speedo touched 130mph. The police car matched them and stayed at a cautious distance while radioing for backup. The VW approached an intersection, they were three lanes in; he pressed the pedal still harder willing every last bit of juice from it before cutting across the two lanes two his left, catching their rear end as they went. The car levelled out and pulled away leaving the police car in the wrong lane to turn. "Whooho!" shouted Steve the man in the passenger seat. He grabbed Rich and shook him in jubilation. "You did it man, those coppers had no chance!" "What can I say? Those bastards can't drive for shit!" They doubled back on themselves and pulled up outside a warehouse, the car's temporary home for the past two months, since Jez had brought it from Manchester. They'd have to ring Jez up to get him to collect it soon as it was too hot to have it sitting around here. "Right! Which of you two fuckers want's to tell me what happened in there? Huh?" "I'll tell you what happened, your dildo of a brother happened." He let out a huge agitated sigh. "Look settle the fuck down and tell me what happened." "Okay! We got in there, right? And every things going fine when retard there decides to have some fun with one of the hostages…" he was cut off mid stream by 'retard'. "She shouldn't have bit me man. It still hurts look." He held out his hand but nobody was bothered. "She bit you so you shot her? Yeah! Every heard of an Eye for an Eye, Huh?" "Buuu…" "But nothing! Wankshaft! When we went into this shit we agreed, the guns were for decoration, this isn't Lock stock and two fuckin' smoking barrels." "Look, look." Piped the driver, " I'm sure she'll get over the injury. His brother blushed and turned silent. The other one of the trio gave a chuckle. "Huh! I don't think so, but hey at least that drab grey wall has been brightened up with a nice shade of red." The driver turned to his brother, "This true?" "Ah ha…" he sounded in affirmation before being punched square in the face by his own brother. "Owww! Man!" "You've always been a thick twat!" the venom in his voice scared his brother…. There was a silence while he thought; he spoke again "Okay! Steve, you call Jez; tell him we finished with the car. Don't let on how hot it is other wise he won't touch it with nobody else’s barge pole!" Steve nodded and stepped a few paces away to use his mobile. "Rich… look man…" came the wavering voice of his half-wit brother. "Shhhhhhh!!!!!!!! How the fuck did I get stuck with you?" His brother started to cry but tried to hold it back.