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bully's star prize jamie jackson as i come round it’s dark. something’s pinning me on my back and there’s that familiar smell of last night’s booze. I try to open my eyes but it’s just too painful so I leave it a while, starting to grin as I remember big Jimmy Folkestone at the Pig and Bull yesterday evening, trying to take me on in my own backyard, at my own game. darts. I’ve always been able to throw a spear like Jocky Wilson, I could’ve probably progressed to the javelin, been the town’s own Tessa Sanderson if I’d carried on but instead I opted for the beer. I mean you can’t have one without the other can you? so it’s me, a pint of Stella off the tap, and the darts. and there I am last night down the Bull, warming up, throwing the odd 140 when up comes big Jimmy Folkestone and asks me for a game. I take him on right enough, ‘cos I know I’ll have him, and get a few fucking laughs at his expense, have ‘em all rolling in the aisles as they down their bitters and lagertops trying to beat work and home time. so I’m playing him for a five a throw, highest score picks up, and I’m just basically taking the cunt’s arse and shagging it big time, it couldn’t have been more humiliating if I had his mum and his sisters there and I’d got their pants down and was giving ‘em one up their shitboxes in front of his face. he’s really starting to bite, his cheeks are flushing purple red and every time I shout BULLY’S STAR PRIZE! and take the five out of his hand he’s dying to smack my smiling face. they’re all loving it, of course, it’s always fun if the laugh’s not on you and of course I’m laughing, in fact I’m pissing my knickers but at the same time there’s a slight nag in my mind, ‘cos I know he’s a big cunt and I know he’ll lay me out flat if I push him too far. so I decide to let him win. you know, I can’t take all of his fucking giro money off him, he’s just picked it up today, poor twat. so slowly he starts to get his money back, and soon he’s loving it. laughing at me. lapping it up in front of ‘em all, ‘cos now they’re in at me, giving me the shit and just when he’s nearly got it back square, he gets too confident and turns and shouts, WINNER TAKES ALL, LET’S GET IT ALL OUT ON THE TABLE WILLIAMS YOU FAT CUNT!...well, that was it. like I said, spears are my game. he threw 65 and I threw 180. I turned and gave it to him right in his mush screaming AND BULLLLLLLLLLLLY’S STARRRRRRRRRRRR PRIZZZZZZZZZE!!!!!!!!!! really shitting and straining the words out, like they were squeezing from my arsehole, like that geezer on telly, sinking to my knees in mock salute like I was cradling the FA fucking cup, egging ‘em all on to look at Folkesty and laugh, as I turned and picked up all his money slowly, lovingly, really rubbing it in. course he broke at that, the cunt, he just fucking snapped and he came charging towards me with a dart and a pint glass, stuck ‘em straight in me, before the rest of ‘em could get to him. that’s the last thing I can remember. he must have layed me out flat. glassed me one in the eyes, that’s why I can’t fucking open ‘em, can’t even reach up to ‘em, he must’ve broken me arms and me back, I can’t fucking move, fuck me, where’s the light at, why isn’t there any fucking light?... James Folkestone took off his Kangol hat and looked at the rest of them stood round, the rain drizzling off their noses as they took it in turns to grab some earth, step forward and drop it. up came Rita Williams, tears running down her face, and pressed three darts into his hand. "go on, drop these on him will you, put ‘em on the coffin, he can take them with him to wherever he’s going, heaven or hell. you know how much he liked his darts." jamie jackson is 24 and likes watching people ("it’s free"). On bully’s star prize: On spitting on shakespeare: design & content © em writing & music all works © the respected artist(s) email the editor |