East Calderhill Flats

On the 23rd floor of the Garthbrook Heights high rise building rests two bare chested twenty-something scumbags Davie and Mackie in their fold-out patio chairs. Davey is slumped forward skinning a spliff while Mackie is sprawled out open thighed and taking long slugs from a bottle of buckfast.
The bulding itself is a giant grey slab of misery, pierced into the earth alongside two others, making the famous Calderhill flats. Hundreds of tiny windows with cramped balconies face out over a large gravel area, before the canal. A few folk can be seen fishing through the overgrown weeds, and are mainly drinking beer, smoking and ignoring eachother whilst waiting for a catch. It was turning out to be one of the hottest afternoons in at least a decade, possibly longer.
Davie licks the papers, twirls them round, fixes a roach in place and finishes up, admiring his creation briefly before popping it between his lips and lighting it up. Mackie slowly turns towards him:
'' 'At looks like a belter Davie, gies a puff fuck's sake.''
''Whit? Naw Mackie mate, A'hv only jist went and sparked it ya fanny! Gies an up an doony ae yir swally though, a'hm chokin'.''
''Naw, how should I, when yir no giein' me a toke? Get tae fuck.''

Mackie takes a sickeningly lengthy swig of buckfast then pulls away from the bottle, dripping some on the balcony floor. It is apparent that he is becoming assuredly steaming, what with the heat out and the hangover he's trying to obliterate. Davie clocks his state:

''Here mate, you've had enough.'' Davie snatches the bottle from him easily, puts it straight to his lips and glugs down. Mackie whirls round and gawps at him with squinted eyes and a slack jaw, showing missing front teeth from the bottom row. He belligerantly turns back, facing out towards the view, still squinting his eyes in the sunlight. Down at the canal, two men - one in a celtic strip, the other bare chested and both in their late thirties or early fourties begin squaring eachother up, seemingly out of the blue. Davie and Mackie both get up and lean on the railings trying for a good scope of the possible scrap. Davie passes the spliff over and concentrates on the scene below.
The man in the celtic top is now shouting viciously at the other chap from about 10 feet away and advancing in an antagonizing manner. The bare chested man is chubby, sunburnt and somewhat startled. He puts down his fishing rod and stands up in confrontation against the hooligan. Only faint noise can be heard from this far up, but judging by the general body language on display the chubby man is definately a victim of unprovoked argumentation. The celtic top hooligan is taller, fitter and more aggressive in nature, and is by this point up in the other guys grill, shoulders spread back with forehead tipped forward and giving the poor man no room to breathe. The chubby man pushes the thug back, causing them both to stumble, and that was apparently the tipping point. The thug quickly scrambles to his feet and sprints forward, lunging a massive foot into the fat man's chest.
''Ooohh! D'ye see that Davie? 'At wis a fucking sore yin.''
''Aye. Cunt didn'y deserve that, man.''

The sunburnt man cripples over clutching his torso in desparation as the attacker plants another sharp kick to his nose. Screaming in agony, the man goes all the way down in the weeds as the hooligan begins setting about him with unfashionable vigour and brute force.
As the man's face is good and bloodied, other folk along the canal are on their feet and shouting discouraging remarks across to the attacker. One woman comes running along waving her arms and shouting for him to stop. A couple of rough types follow slowly, squaring the situation up.
''Aw whit's this banger up tae?'' Davie remarks
''She's gonnae get one in the pus, so she is'' Mackie replies, playfully brimming with excitement.
''Not wae these two cunts - look at thim, they're gonnae take his fuckin' hied aff, just watch.''

The woman stops at the attacker, clings to his top and attempts to pull him away from the now corpse-like heap by the canal. The thug doesn't let up - he stomps down twice on the poor mans head, shouting like a man possessed, like an animal. All the while this over-emotional lass is trying her best to wrench him from the fight but her actions are cut short by a lightning quick elbow from behind to the jaw. The hooligan turns around, shouting at the female, but as he looks up he sees the two tough guys now launching themselves towards him - ready to kick the living shit out out of him.
The attacker quickly backs away from the floored woman and the broken man as the two hard men close in. He squares both the men up, arms spread and taking some steps back to give himself space. He is saying something menacing to them. The woman struggles to her feet with a bloody mouth to inspect the downed chubby man, who is not moving.
''Aw here we go man! Proper fuckin' barney at two in the aifternoon!'' Mackie shouts out, dancing on the spot with glee.

One tough guy careers forward and lands a thick punch to the side of the ruffian's head, the other advances and does exactly the same and before long the once almighty thug is on his back scrambling around in the dusty gravel as he gets his comeuppance delivered with brutality.
''Yass! Get that round ye, ya fuckin' dafty! 'Moan in therr bigyins! Fuckin' scalp the cunt!'' Mackie is by this point throwing his arms up in rejoice, with a massive dirty grin on his scarred face.
''Here Mackie, huv some tonic and calm doon ya fucking radge cunt.'' Davie passes the near-empty bottle over to Mackie, who exchanges the spliff back to him in return.
After this brief transaction they resumed their viewing to find the thug back on his feet holding an ominously red steak knife and swaying over the body of one of the tough guys, the other of whom was backing off unsteadily towards the woman. He must have whipped out a concealed blade and unfairly plunged it into the poor bastard in amidst the action. By this point the whole area was zoomed in on the event, some other folk were shouting and throwing things from the flats, some were hanging out their windows in the tenements North-East of the canal. It wouldn't be long now until the police show up.
''Ah fucking missed a stabbing!? Aw fur fuck sake Davie, ye huv tae gies that boatle right when the cunt stabbed some cunt! Whit a fuckin' gyp. Bastard!''
''Awrite Mackie, calm the spam bigyin. It's no like yer team loast. Some cunt got plugged.''

In shock, the hooligan slipped the blade back into his coat and promptly ran off down the canal, leaving two men in a pool of blood and one woman with a broken jaw. The fat man was now moving a little as people came to help him up. The other fellow was motionless. People stood around, turned him over, checked his breathing, shook their heads but kept trying in hope of something good.
After a few minutes the distant sound of sirens had squealed its way onto to the scene in the form of two ambulances, two police cars and a meatwagon - all screeching to a halt around the bodies and the now numerous bystanders who had crowded there.
People from the crowd pointed in the direction the man had ran off in, acted out exactly what had happened in broad motions, gathered the fat man's things from the side of the canal to put in the ambulance with him and gave their details as the officers penciled them down in their little notepads.

''Fuckin' SCUM! It's eh fuckin' scum - scum-my fuckin' scum baaags!'' Mackie - now soused, was singing out to the crime scene from the balcony with the empty bucky bottle clenched tight in his fist.
''Get the fuck doon Mackie ya fucking radge, ye'll get us banged up again!''
''Chill eh fuck out, Davie-boy. A'hm only fuckin' playin' in't ah? - AAH SMELL BAAACONN!!!! EFF-TEE-PEE YA FANNIEEES!!!'' He screams as loud as his lungs allow him. The police look up directly at them. Mackie is now waving around the celtic flag that was tied to the balcony's railings and slurring out anti-authoritarian remarks with a drunken passion.
Davie thunders down on his shoulders and pushing through some awkward resistance manages to slam him back down in the seat, which cracks on impact, sending Mackie crashing to the rough concrete balcony floor, Davie following suit. The bottle clinks down and the ashtray flips, tossing dowts every which way, some spinning off the edge and drifting away to the gravel below in a plume of ash.
''Fuckin' watch Davie! Ah'll fuckin' tan you right noo ya cunt! Whit 'eh fuck ur ye up tae? Ah'm onlay giein' they pigs a fuckin' seein' te', an' you come up an fuckin' push me te' the groon'? Whit 'fuck's 'at aw aboot, eh? Fuckin' cunt? Eh?
''Here, Mackie, take a chill pill fur fuck's sake - ah'm only keepin' us fae getting nabbed ya fuckin' mad cunt. Get it fuckin' soarted. Fuckin' skin a joint or somethin'.''
''Aye, awrite then Davie - gies the soapbar an' 'at.''
''It's ower therr'' Davie points to a rolling mat with various parephernalia atop it sitting just in the balcony entrance.

The boys smoke up from the balcony all through the evening as police come and go below. They watch for hours, getting fiercely stoned as they do. They phone their mates one by one respectively to tell them of the event - eventually exaggerating nearly every part that happened until the story had warped somewhat out of control. The word 'sword' eventually got used, along with the words: 'Blood spurting fuckin' everywhere'.
The incident was shaping up towards being locked in history as 'A heavy fucking bloodbath'.

Magnus McFarlane. 2010