A bedraggled black cat slunk from shadow to shadow stopping only to watch us curiously. Her green eyes reflecting the light and darting from me to him. We advanced upon each other in unison. We shared the same common purpose. I had waited a long time to get him in this situation. Revenge for past humiliations would be mine. I would at long last get my pound of flesh. I felt my heart thump in my chest as much needed adrenaline began to surge around my body. My old adversary must surely be feeling as apprehensive as I was
We stopped just a few paces apart. I eyed his rugged form clad in ripped Levi jeans. His unfashionable leather waistcoat flapped in the light evening breeze. The scar on his left cheek seemed unnaturally pale in the moonlight. His flat cap seemed out of place perched atop his overlarge head at a jaunty angle like a rock on a precipice.
He drew fast, his hands became a blur, but I was quicker. My trombone reached my lips and I started blowing first. His trumpet followed mere milliseconds later. The battle commenced.
Darren Sant is a 40 year old writer living in the badlands of Hull. His writings only get more twisted and cynical with age. His insane musings have enjoyed publication in Byker Books Radgepacket series and also online.
He can be found on Twitter here: @groovydaz39
He blogs once a week under the name 'Old Seth' here: http://www.craigrobertdouglas.com