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Dead Man's Hollow
by Kathy Hoyle
EXCERPT
They built a skate park over Dead Man’s Hollow. We were all dead chuffed. Nobody needed a reminder of the past, the councilmen said, not in this day and age. Kids needed somewhere to go. Somewhere to skate and smoke and let off steam. Things were getting bad. Knife crime, twocking, burglaries. They’d closed the youthie. Ryan’s dad got his head kicked in by three little bastards in Minecraft hoodies while he was locking up. Couldn’t have been more than twelve, me mam told us. They’d left the sub money but nicked all the boxes of crisps and three cans o Coke. Ryan’s dad said he wasn’t going back, said it wasn’t worth gettin stitches in his nut for the sake of a box of fuckin Wotsits. No one else could be arsed to run it.
So, when the sign went up to say they were building the skate park, we were all buzzin. The council fellas gave us aerosols and let us graffiti the shit out of it. Called it street art in the paper and we all got our picture taken, grinning like divs. Our names were underneath the picture, L–R: Jamie Malton, Ishan Anand, Arjun Anand, Sofia Wojcik, Ryan Price, Skye Jackson, Summer Jackson, and me, Luke Lambton, on the end, holdin our Jack up by his hood, telling him to smile.
We look happy in that picture. I cut it out and stuck it on me wall. Mam took it down. Said it upset her too much, seeing all of us smilin like that.
We never used the skate park in the end, course, after everything that happened. Just that one time. Makes me feel sick now, to think what we were skatin over the top of. That thing. Underneath us. Nestin. Waitin.
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… Read the complete story in our anthology Perfect Circle.
Kathy Hoyle
Kathy Hoyle is a working-class writer from the North East.
