Paranoia

  Emerging from the warmth of a shop, Stanley stepped onto a street rigid with the cold of an uninvited November. Offering a hoarse exhale into his bleached-knuckle cupped hands, Stanley began a steady trot down the road; a sense of foreboding clouding his mind. The area was well known for phone-stabbings and grisly drug peddlers; not particularly suited to Stanly's pacifistic ways, or shaky helplessness if you like. Humans passed by in the masses, robotic complexities adorning the faces of each soul-starved one; their pupils heavy with disregard to everything other than would cause hindrance to their pace. Stanley found comfort in this, minimal human contact was often preferred, yet still, he would offer small glances of half-minded interest to all the aesthetic qualities of the grime which surrounded him; as not to raise suspicion.

The pavements were laced with the debris of soggy, discarded paper napkins, and polystyrene scraps. Stanley observed a group of humans clustered violently around a kebab shop, as a vile chef wearing a stained apron slowly cut the rotating meat slabs, Stanley couldn't help notice how the scene was similar to the hyena feeding frenzies featured on national geographic; only in this case the humans were even more so repulsive. A swift breeze carried the overwhelming scent of cheap lager and marijuana, at least one thing which Stanley could take pleasure in. Yet the cold, seemed to run up his sleeve, uninvited, to jab him with opium and induce teeth-clattering and the sort; it was unbearable. Suddenly, Stanly's dormant sense of foreboding quickly,menacingly, re-gripped his brain. A small Indian man in sandals squatted beside a pipe dripping iridescent oil, the leak trickling onto his toes, yet he didn't seem to notice; preoccupied with biting his nails. The man, known as Punjab blurted out, ''my friend, what time?'', as he watched Stanley come to an abrupt halt; his bone marrow turning to fragile clay, in an elapsed moment of terror. Moments passed, the scenario had now became awkward, yet Stanley was bolt rigid into the ground, hands deep in pockets, expecting a flip-blade to pierce his already dead heart. Punjab began to grow anxious, assuming Stanley was a mindless thug, about to unleash unprecedented fury. Gathering his wits, Punjab asked politely again, ''my dear friend, have you idea of the time?'', planning to run for dear life if there was no response. Stanley knew only too well, in life threatening scenarios, one must be quick to rely on instinct and make quick, vital decisions that could determine life or death, there was no time for negotiation here.

As Stanley slowly raised his arm to check the time on his watch, ever so carefully as to be prepared to counteract any attack; Punjab jumped to his feet, tremulous with fear, and began to run wildly down the street. Stanley knew it had been a setup, others were coming for his precious watch and wallet. Running blindly through the crowd, Stanley blurted out short apologies to all the shocked women and offended men which he bumped into in his frenzied escape. As he ran, Stanley pulled out his mobile phone, looking more like a gun wielding madman at the time than a simply paranoid man. Frivolously pressing 999 on the keypad,  the illuminated digits now blurred from his adrenaline rush, Stanley delighted in seeing the baton-armed, frowning policeman a short distance ahead of him. Panting, desperate for the warm, comfortable embrace of the hands of the law, justice; the policeman raised his baton like a bat, Stanley noticed, but it was too late, as he watched the man swing the bat in his face. Stanley watched as he fell to the pavement with a thud, his jaw aching like nothing he had ever felt before, the biting cold ceased, as the warm,dark bliss of unconsciousness embraced him.