Sheffield parkour Video Diary Week 10

Magnetism

There's a moment where we're lying in bed together and Charlotte says
'I bet your kids would be really beautiful.' I smile and play with her ear. I say
'They would with some of your features.' I lean in close and kiss her.

I pass her a piece of chicken. She tops up the Pepsi. We look out of the car windows and we laugh and joke. I start to realise just how much she means to me.

Sheffield Parkour Training Diary Week 9

Intent

Brian stares through his glasses into the goldfish bowl. If it’s true that this fish has the memory span of just seven seconds I can do anything to it and it won’t remember. He taps the glass and the fish flits away. He looks over to his bed. I’ll pull up the mattress and then all hell breaks loose.

He chews his porridge slowly. He stares at the poster hanging on his door. Reservoirs dogs. I love the gritty character and the way he slices off that guy’s ear. He drops his bowl of porridge onto the computer desk and stops chewing for a moment. I'll run in. They'll scatter like mice. I can’t wait to see their faces.

He lifts the mattress an inch and his mother's voice shouts out
'Brian, do you want some apple pie?' Bitch. He lowers the mattress and walks to the door. The brackets creep as the door opens.
'No mom, no thanks'
'Well just shout me if you need anything.' Brian closes the door and walks to his bed. Something tells him to stop. He reaches over to the blinds and pulls the cord to close them. The mattress feels heavy. He lifts the plastic bag from beneath the mattress.

He stares at the bag. Shall I open it now? What if I need to test it? He looks up at the ceiling, trying to think. He decides to open it. He unravels the bag and pulls out a heavy object wrapped in a red rag. He strokes his finger over the rag. People are going to regret doing the things they've done.

Stacy is the biggest bitch. She always had to say something nasty, even after we broke up. She couldn't just leave me alone. She had to whine about money I owed her or the trouble I’d caused her. I just sat back and took it. I wanted to have it over and done with fast. I remember the day we broke up. I'd been drinking and she told me I looked like shit. I just glared at her. I wanted her to see that I was upset. She started telling me she was sick of it. She said she was sick of my waster lifestyle. She said she'd wasted two long months with a loser boyfriend. I hated her for saying that.

The red rag feels like suede. He peels back one corner, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He touches the cold black metal. It feels good. He lifts the other corners carefully and stares at it. They're always a lot bigger than they look in the movies. You think they're going to be light and small. You get the idea that that's what a handheld is. When you pick it up it's different.

He turns the pistol in his right hand. He knocks his glasses up his nose with his left thumb and marvels at the weapon. It makes you feel powerful. It makes you imagine all those cop movies. Those guys look so cool with a gun in their hand. They dart round corners and point it at people. Whoever is facing that pistol stops, they’re petrified. Brian points the pistol forwards. He imagines Stacy with a horrified expression on her face.
'Pow, pow, pow' Brian whispers. In his mind he sees bullets flying into three people. He imagines Decklan being the third person, His mother is the second.

Decklan used to be nice to me, partly because I did his maths homework. I saw him as a necessary evil. At least if I had Decklan on my side no-one else was bullying me. Decklan used to tease me about my ginger hair and the fact I wore glasses. He used to call me short arse and slap me. I would make jokes at my own expense. People seemed to pick up on that. They'd look at me and laugh their head off. I felt accepted.

When Decklan started seeing Stacy after the break up I was gutted. Decklan didn’t need his homework doing anymore. I was cast aside like a dirty nappy. Decklan got Stacy to do his homework. Now I feel like I’m out in the cold while my so called mate fucks my girlfriend. It hurts deeply. It hurts to the point where I cut myself with razors to stop the pain. It’s an emotional outlet. When the blade pierces my skin all my emotions are rendered impotent. When I watch the blood pour from my arm everything is clear in my mind. It’s like waking up from a power nap.

He straightens his glasses and stares into the mirror. He takes off his shirt and throws it on the floor. He stares at his ribs. I look like an anorexic. I never could put weight on. These scars on my arm are a testament to the pain I’ve suffered. I remember the feelings I subdued with each cut. He looks at the gun is in his jeans pocket. He grabs it and points it at the mirror. 'Don't move Decklan' Brian says in his best Wild West voice. He forces a laugh and slots the pistol into his pocket.

The long coat looks great Brian thinks, walking to school. I look like a real gangster now. His footsteps are light, almost happy as he trudges through the winter snow. His Hi-Tec trainers feel comfortable with their laces tightly wound. His jeans are ripped in places. That’s cool if you're a rock star. Brian pictures himself holding a guitar. Yeah I’m a rock star. The thought makes him smile. He fondles the pistol though his clothes. Not long now.

He enters the school, his head bowed. I always have my head down, avoiding all those mean faces. He stops and stares forwards. His mouth opens slightly. Metal detectors. I never counted on the security at school. The hall security let people through the scanners one by one. Brian tries desperately to think of a way round it as the alarm beeps and a guy in a baseball hat places a Rolex watch into a plastic bowl. Brian wipes his sweaty palms on his coat, his breathing becoming shallow. It’s hard to breathe. He turns. There's no way I can pull this off. He bumps into the head teacher. Shit! He stands back.
'Brian, where are you off to in such a rush?' Brian stares at the man's grey beard.
'I, urm, I was just going home, I'm feeling ill sir'
'Nonsense, if you're feeling ill you can go and see the nurse, on to class please Mr Preston.' Brian turns, feeling something churn in his stomach. They're going to find it. The metal detector will find the gun.

Brian walks through the sensor slowly. Please don't go off, please don’t go off! The sensor beeps and Brian stumbles backwards. The huge guy who inspected the watch says
'Excuse me sir, I’m afraid you'll have to give me any metal objects you have on your person.' Brian flips out, pulling the gun from his pocket and pointing it at the man.
‘Stay back' he screams, his voice shaky and unsure. 'Stay the fuck back,' the security man put his palms up. The busy hall stops for a moment. People scream and bolt for the door, tripping over each other’s feet. Brian’s eyes widen, his body poised in suspense and terror. He squeezes the trigger and a bullet flies into the security guards right shoulder. The noise is deafening. The man howls in pain and blood cascades down his arm making his blue uniform a dark brown colour. Someone grabs Brian’s arm. Whoever it is they’re strong. Brian lets out another shot but whoever has his arm guides the shot into a wall. Brian turns to see a built security guard, his huge hands clasping Brian’s scrawny arm. Brian pulls back for a punch with his left hand but someone grabs his elbow. His face hurtles towards the floor and he feels a knee in his back. He lets go of the gun, finding it hard to breathe.
'Got him, pin him down' a man shouts. Brian looks around the deserted room. Two men pin him to the floor. The bloody security guard stares weekly at Brian, taking small breaths and nursing his shoulder. Brian breaks down with anger and sorrow. The tears run into his mouth giving him a salty taste. The sudden realisation of what he's doing dawns on him. I fucked up. I fucked up bad.

It Was Early

He faces the screen. His urge to write makes him tap his index finger on the keyboard. He sits up. Okay. His fingers make contact with the keys and the words seem to write themselves. He stops typing. Walking into the kitchen to grab a cup of Chinese tea he looks over the day's events.

Nine o'clock seemed like a stupid time to be warming up and it was. It was Saturday. For a traceur it doesn't matter if you're out early. It's worth it. People walked by and shot glances at him. The average looks he got were ones of mild interest. He circled his hips and took deep breaths.

He lay in the shade on the top of a wall and rested his head on a two litre bottle of water. He raised a palm as Jordan walked onto the scene. Eight hours takes it out of you. It makes the next day after seem like it's in slow motion. This is how he felt as he lay on the wall. The energy had gone from his body. He felt heavy, like all the muscle fibres in his body had turned into threads of metal wiring.

The group had got bigger. One had turned to four. Four turned to fourteen. He attempted jumps but his body didn't want to co-operate with his mind. It’s pointless. Just yesterday he was diving on and over obstacles, breaking his boundaries and progressing fast. Now his body wanted nothing more than to lie down and give up. I must fight this.

The first jump that he did well felt good and made him feel exited. He landed in the correct spot. It brought a smile to his face. Maybe he was warming up. Passers by stopped and looked into the dirty back alley. To the world this alley was a disgusting place. To him it was an obstacle course. He'd jump to a wall. The next week he'd jump higher and longer. The process of progressing made him feel high. The whole thing made him feel elated and satisfied.

His body felt like it was back to normal. He knew it wasn’t. The warm glow he felt wasn’t his body at its full potential. What he felt was merely warm muscles, ready for action but not yet recovered from eight hours of punishment.

He stared into space as he walked through the bus station. He used his peripherals to watch people around him. He felt like nothing could frustrate him. He had the clear mind like that of a Buddhist monk. People looked at him and it was like they didn’t know what to think of him. He was aware he looked vacant but it didn’t matter. The memories of the day's event would stay with him far longer than any fear of what people thought of him.