Willow's Reach

Stunned by their brutal hostility and hounded into a corner, Surraya experiences both humiliation and terror in equal measure as she stares at her five heavy set, shaven headed tormentors. She has got their message loud and clear, but they haven’t finished with her yet. She recoils from their bad breath causing her skin to itch, clasping her hands to her ears as they roar anti Islamic obscenities directly into her face, before pouring live fishing bait over her head and shoulders. Squirming in disgust while frantically flicking the maggots from her hair, she gyrates hysterically as some of the vile, wriggling creatures slither towards her mouth and into her ears, sliding down the inside of her blouse as her patriotic assailants theatrically proclaim, “this is what it feels like to be Britain, crawling with immigrants.”

Despite resisting the urge to sleep in, Richard is in high spirits as he leaves the halls of residence for his morning caffeine infusion at Starbucks. His good mood is attributed to carving another notch on his imaginary bedhead with the highly desirable Sophie the previous night, the latest and most prestigious in a long line of meaningless, carnal conquests. Turning the corner he is abruptly confronted by a group of yobs pouring worms over a distraught, defenceless Asian victim. Like a surreal scene from a medieval witch hunt, the angry group bellow obscenities whilst the girl wriggles and screams in revulsion. Richard impulsively barges through the lynch mob to help remove the offensive grubs from the girl’s hair and face as she trembles in horror, attempting to shake the clinging maggots from her neckline. Wiping her hair and shoulders clear, Richard is suddenly subjected to a devastating blow to the base of his spine, momentarily blacking out from the indescribable pain. Briefly out for the count, he comes round to find himself prostrate on the pavement surrounded by trampled and writhing maggots. “Mind yer own business, Paki lover,” bellows the proud owner of the steel toed Doc Martens responsible for his present predicament. In spite of the intense pain, or perhaps because of it, Richard pulls himself upright and let’s fly with an uppercut Mike Tyson would have been proud of, shuddering the jaw of his assailant whose response is to lamely spit a couple of teeth in his direction before ungratefully receiving Richard’s pile driver of a left hook. Realising his boxing training has finally been used in anger, with some justification, he proudly watches as the man with the lethal boot crumbles into the arms of one of his cohorts while the others set upon Richard en masse, ferociously kicking and punching him to the ground in retaliation. Boxing is a discipline for one against one; three against one changes the dynamic drastically.

The ensuing melee draws a crowd of students, some trying in vain to protect a fellow undergraduate although most look on in shock at such gratuitous violence. Fortunately for Richard, the police had already been alerted with two officers on the beat arriving at the scene to be greeted with a vicious response from the gang. One of the officers finds himself on the wrong end of a blade as the approaching police sirens signal the gang’s cue to escape. Two of the thugs are caught, wrestled to the pavement and handcuffed, including ‘steel toes’, although the arrival of the police van is just too late to prevent the other three from legging it.

As the mayhem subsides, the pain in Richard’s lower back is becoming unbearable and, instead of adopting the demeanour of an outnumbered hero, he lies wincing in excruciating pain. Two paramedics attend to him and the injured officer while transporting them to the nearest emergency unit. After a brief examination he is taken down to radiology for an x-ray of his spine to assess the extent of his injury. Waiting for the results seems like an eternity for Richard, dreading the possibility of any damage to his spinal chord which could, at the very least, prematurely end his keen sporting activities. The duty doctor administers a pain killing injection and returns to look at the x-rays, announcing, to Richard’s immense relief, that he has suffered only severe contusion to his lumbar vertebrae, with no visible fractures, and lesser bruising to his abdomen and ribs. He is prescribed anti inflammatories and some painkillers. Walking stick now in hand Richard, the unlikely hero, is free to leave.

On his way out he is surprised to see the young victim waiting in the corridor.

“Are you alright?” he asks, assuming she also required treatment.

“Am I alright? What about you?” She has large, dark, sensitive eyes, and certainly has an apprehensive, shy demeanour, suggesting she is not entirely comfortable with being so gregarious. He suspects her family would be none too pleased.

“Just a bit bruised, nothing broken,” he strikes himself as sounding terribly stiff upper lip; almost Bondeque, “What about you, done fishing?”

“Uugh, revolting things, I imagine I’ll have nightmares about that. Yes I’m fine; I needed to know you are alright. Also I want to thank you for being so courageous; it was extremely good of you. I feel so humiliated and ….” Her eyes begin to glaze.

“I feel embarrassed that people with such ignorance exist in this country. They are a disgrace.” Richard loathes that kind of bigoted Nazi and cringes to think what it must be like for her.

“May I limp you home?” he asks nodding to the walking stick.

“I think for your own safety it’s not such a good idea.” She seems serious, as if she considers herself a liability for him rather than being concerned about her own safety.

“Lightning never strikes twice in the same place. By the way, I’m Richard.”

“Surraya.” she smiles.

She reminds him of a girl from the Fry’s Turkish Delight advert, the full of eastern promise