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Daniel CourtIRON PYRITE I'm here with The Skull and Lewis. We’ve all been friends for a while. We’re all here for a reason. Skull and I couldn’t be here without Lewis and Lewis knows how to keep it in check. Lewis isn’t the important one though.So we’ve been sat here for about six hours and I decide to broach the subject. I know that it’s not going to be easy and I have to approach this all in the right context or, not only will I appear to be insane, but no one will understand me and everything will go awry. At this point I’m not bothered about everyone else; this is between The Skull and me. It’s getting hotter in the room. I wonder if everyone is feeling hot or if it’s just me. I try not to think about it all. I try not to think about everything that’s riding on his answer and attempt to appear relaxed. I have another drink. I have perfected the art of taking large gulps but appearing to only have a sip. I wonder where I acquired this talent and if it’s actually useful. There’s a break in the conversation about football scores. Lewis gets up. Toilet I think. Now’s the time. I sit down next to Skull and cross the Rubicon. “Where’s the gold Skull?” His initial look of bewilderment gives way to amusement as matches my gaze and smiles. “What gold Dan?” I laugh. It comes out all wrong and it sounds wistful and uncharacteristic. Skull laughs too, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me. Room temperature has gone up about three degrees and we’ve drawn a bit of attention. I roll up my sleeves. It’s all going to go off. I can feel it. Rage is bubbling. I can’t back down, that’s not how it works. He needs to acknowledge my stance on the issue. Six eternities later he takes a swig from his can. “I don’t have the gold. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” It’s easy to be smug when you’re in the driving seat. I take it easy because people have noticed a tension between us. I also laugh. It’s genuine this time because I think that in about ten minutes one of us is going to trigger a fight which will end years of friendship and camaraderie. I laugh at the things people will do for money. “The gold from the job Skull, the gold from the fucking job.” I emphasise ...I'm expecting punches any second... “I know what you’re talking about. You’re talking about the gold.”“Yes, I need my share. I know you can’t get it to me right now but I need it soon.” I plead. “Mate, it’s offshore…” It’s not offshore. It’s gone. That’s what he means. I am beginning to lose it. I am breathing quicker than usual. I don’t think he’s realised that the adrenaline is pumping through my system and I’m ready for combat. I watch him move on his seat in slow motion. He’s not taken an aggressive stance but he’s ready for me. Do I need to take this further? It’s mine too, we both worked for it, equal share right? I weigh up my opponent; Cumbrian, of farming stock. He’s sporting tattoos of dragons and scorpions underneath his top. I’m sporting 6”6’ of pure muscle. Can it be done? I don’t know. Let’s do it. Screaming and hysterical I leap up and start hurling abuse at Skull through rasped teeth. Years of education are lost. I am without class, dignity and comprehension. Primary colours, basic shapes, primal instinct. Vision blurs as I try to keep a basic handle on my existence. Everyone is looking and the jig is up. I haven’t hit Skull yet because we’re friends aren’t we? I just don’t want to be betrayed. It’s happened before. My eyes well up with tears. I know I’ve missed my chance and I’m expecting punches any second. “What are you playin’ at bruv?” A thick southern accent cuts in. I can’t see anything but I know its Lewis. I’m wiping my eyes as he turns to Skull. “What’s got D all worked up?” “The gold, mate” says the Cumbrian. “Oh right, shit, the gold…” The two of them exchange glances, shake their heads and stare at me. I weigh up how much damage I can inflict on the traitors before they or someone else takes me down. I fancy my chances. They’ll all pay. Lewis walks up to me slowly. There is something reassuring in his gait. I can trust him to at least tell me straight. I slow my breath and wait for the twist. “Big D…” he starts. “I think we should all do a little less Ketamine.” Instinctively I cover my mouth with my hand as to stem the pareidolia. Regret and humility flow through my system with an undertone of questioning. I take off my glasses, wipe my eyes and grin. Other people in the room are now laughing and giggling a bit. “I’m getting another Strongbow,” I mutter. Skull just winks at me. Daniel Court is a student at the Unversity of Central Lancashire. Photographer Danny Williams lives in Ireland. Hands up who knew what pareidolia meant... 10:10 PM - 8/2/2007 - post comment
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