The Survival Game

by Stavro Yianni

John pressed ‘end call’ and bit his fist. What the hell are you playing at, gamota?

  He’d gone from getting a half positive to pissing her off in the space of a few seconds. She wasn’t going to just forgive and forget about all the Yousif skata easily. He’d have to work at it, and work hard—bit-by-bit, day-by-day—to win her back.

  Slowly slowly does it, re…

  Yeah, it was true. But, he couldn’t help feeling worried that he might’ve just fucked it up even—

  A loud crash behind him made him spin round and grab his gun from his belt. He scanned the area with wide eyes, pointing his Glock indiscriminately at the alleyway ahead of him. His eyes fell upon the black cat that had just jumped up onto a brick wall from an old bin over to his right, sending it crashing to the ground in the process. The cat stopped dead and stared at him with its piercing green eyes for a couple of seconds, feeling him out. John waved his gun at it and it dived down onto the other side of the wall.

  John’s instincts relaxed. Why so jumpy, re?

  He shook his head and casually approached the bin. He stood it back upright and stared inside it. He glanced from it to the gun in his hand, then back to the bin. He had a strong urge to ditch the gun, it wasn’t him any more, not where he wanted to be in the future. He had to move on.

  He went to throw it in when at the last second he saw the cat’s piercing green eyes burning in his mind’s eye. They morphed into Valeria’s cold eyes and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck spring to attention. Yeah, he wanted to get rid, but at the same time, what if one day he was walking down an alley just like this and happened to bump into one of Marek’s boys, or one of Dread I’s crew?

  He looked back into the bin again. A spot between two black bags was waiting for his gun, nice and snug. Just drop it in, re, and you can put it all behind you…

  He contemplated that thought, the pros and the cons, the past and the future. He wanted to so badly, but at the same time he had to be streetwise, to think of his self-preservation. He’d pissed off a lot of people the last week, and no doubt they’d be out for revenge. It was another one of those choices. The ones where you had no choice. Once again, he was torn in half, but had to go along with it.

  He sighed, nodded his head in understanding, and then pushed his gun back into his belt. ‘Just till the dust settles,’ he told the empty bin. ‘Just till it settles…’

  He closed his eyes and the alleyway suddenly became quiet. He didn’t like it. It was too quiet. He didn’t want to hang around there any longer than necessary, so he went straight back to his car and got in. He looked behind both shoulders, then checked his rear view. Those horns were still on his head, but they were sort of fading into nothing now. Instead of being solid black like before, they were now more like shadow. He guessed that in another couple of days, the drugs would probably wear off fully and he’d no longer see any horns or haloes anywhere.

  And then I’ll never know if I ever lose the damn things…

  You’ll know, re. In your heart, he heard Phillipo say in his mind.

  He smiled faintly and nodded in agreement. Yeah, I’ll know, I’ll know…

  He sparked up a cigarro, took a long puff, and sighed.

  And only time would tell…

  He slipped a fresh DnB CD into his stereo. Soon after, he was nodding his head to the music as he pulled away onto Wood Green High Street and headed for home.

  About the Author

  STAVRO YIANNI is a writer of crime/horror fiction, based in north London.