Hole in the Wall

The future of British politics? Political satire.

Billy knew he’d lost his entitlements.

He’d assumed as much before he got to the Job Centre, before the follow up interview date arrived in fact, so it was no great surprise. But at 40 years of age and with a stressed related illness to contend with, it was the ultimate loss.

It was in their remit though. ‘Policy’ they called it officially; ‘commission based staff incentive’ less formally.

The client advisor seemed a nice enough lad, mind you. A slight built kid with an optimistic, if somewhat erratic, air about him. ‘Amiable’ was probably the perfect word to describe a person of his nature and he seemed genuinely sorry to have to bear such life-debilitating information.

‘He’s only young and only doing his job,’ Billy reminded himself, but still felt the need to conclude proceedings with an account of his misfortunes.

‘Can I tell you what I’ve been through this last year Steven? You don’t mind me calling you ‘Steven’ do you?’

The Client Advisor felt uncomfortable looking Billy Hopkins in the eye after the knowledge he had recently imparted, but managed to stop fidgeting with files, his mouse, stapler and calculator long enough to hold the man’s measured gaze.

He quite liked the balding, haggard and disheartened looking man. Despite his dishevelled appearance he could tell that Billy had once been a good person who had fallen to cruel misfortune.

‘No, I mean… yes. That is… I don’t mind you calling me Steven and okay, yes, you can tell me,’ he blabbed cautiously, his hands gesticulating wildly to offset any offence caused by his manically erroneous tongue.

Billy smiled at the younger man’s manner and wished he had met him under less acrimonious circumstances.

A pub would have been ideal. It was like talking to the younger version of himself in some ways.

He’d also had a sense of humour once upon a time.

Not anymore

‘Well Steven, in the last year I’ve lost my job, my wife left me and I’m in a court battle to see my three kids, I was attacked and mugged and spent three days in a coma and when I woke up I found out my Dad had died. I’m just starting to recover and now this happens…’

Steven’s expression dropped so low that Billy thought he might cry and so he cut short his emotional outburst. The last thing he needed was to feel sympathy for someone else

‘I’m really sorry to hear that Mr Hopkins- I’m certain that you deserved much better from life.’

 There were tears in Billy’s eyes and Steven considered making his excuses in concluding the interview, but he felt a strange empathy with his client and so allowed him to continue the purging tirade he could see was brimming to overflow.

What difference would a few minutes make? He didn’t have another appointment for half and hour anyway. It seemed the least the man deserved after everything he’d been through.

‘They used to have thick glass barriers up in these places when I was a kid. The last time this lot were in power.’

Steven nodded as if he was interested. A history lesson in what he already knew through compulsory training was not what he’d had in mind, but Billy’s next statement gave him reason to listen intently.

‘Wouldn’t do much good nowadays- not with all the gun’s kicking about, but my parents used to get their giro through a glass partitioned hole in the wall. A cashier thing like- all the Client Advisors had to have protection cos of their fascist poli…’

Steven narrowed his eyes and held out a hand to interrupt Billy.

His suspicions had been aroused.

‘Did you say ‘gun’s’ Mr Hopkins?’ he interjected, his demeanour more authoritarian now.

Billy nodded and realising that this was his literal equivalent of ‘the moment of truth’ shrank back into the hard plastic seat, half mad with sudden fear.

‘You didn’t bring a gun with you did you Mr Hopkins?’ the Client Advisor asked patronisingly,

‘That would be such a silly thing to do. You know there’s no escaping this- your usefulness is spent and you really don’t want to be a burden do you?’

Steven stared into Billy Hopkins eyes, challenging him, daring him to make his move. Billy’s eyes widened and he plunged his right hand inside the left side of his pilot jacket to pull the pistol free.

A shot rang out and an instant later Billy fell, face down on Steven’s desk, while Steven’s face, shirt and tie were spattered with blood and gore. Then, to add insult to injury, the glass in the window behind Steven's head shattered from the small hole in its centre.

Steven’s good mood diminished in a moment and he looked to the rifle slot in the wall behind where Billy Hopkins had recently been sitting, talking, alive.

‘How many times do I have to tell you not to shoot from directly behind them?’ he berated of the giggling marksman.

He wished that the government would pass legislation to install metal detectors in their Job Centres then these emergency ‘hole in the wall culling’ wouldn’t be as necessary, but he knew this was never likely to happen.

The Tories have always been fond of bloodsports.

Author's Note

Any good? Original? I'm not certain!

Reviews

[Baz]

Good one Spence. The only issue I have is that the narrator seems to jump from being Billy to Steven. This the reader has to invest a bit of effort keeping up who is say what to whom when they should instead be focusing on the story. I would suggest a minor edit where you tell the story completely from one person's point of view (Steven). But the plot itself is very good. A sort of near-future, distopian view of the world. Nice.