Monday, 10 June 2013


They say history repeats itself. Most of the time this metaphorical.
Not today.

In the year of our lord 1856, as our great country revelled from the War in Crimea, I sat looking at the side of a great Oxbow lake. The lake had many fish in it and I was sat fishing when I saw the man coming towards me.  He was dressed in a ragged cloth and was mainly supported by an old wooden stick that waited in his hand. He was shivering which was presumably a sign that he had just strolled through the paupers streets. These places were just a horrible excuse to bear witness to the worst parts of our great city. I was lucky to have rich parents who owned a house and didn't have to live in a squat. The man approached me and I felt my fingers tightening around the hilt of my knife. The man knocked back his hood to reveal the face of a young man, aged by war.
He had blue eyes and his skin was tanned with cuts and bruises distracting the eye.
I recognized the face beneath the scars and cried the name, "Uncle Robin!"
The face smiled and replied, "I observe you are still wearing you're trademark crimson clothing, William Scarlett."
I grinned at his use of my nickname, "Of course. I was under the impression you were in Crimea."
"I was. The wars ending and I received damage to my arm. It only healed a few days ago!"
"It's great to see you."
"You too. My estate appears to have been repossessed."
"Yes. The stand in owner of Nottingham bank has been demanding money from everyone. If you don't pay up they steal all your possessions. That's why I'm here; raising money to pay the bank off."
"I new the actual owner shouldn't have had come to war with us."
"Where are you going to live then?"
"On the other side of the bridge that goes over this Oxbow Lake is the Sherwood Estate." The Sherwood estate was a large housing place designed to house the homeless for a very little fee.
"I know about there."
"Yes. I've heard rumours that the attic of the buildings are perfect living space. I'm going to attempt to get in and set up a base there."
"Can I come?"
"Of course Will."
We made our way over the bridge- a glorified collection of planks held together by twine. About half way across it when a hooded figure met us in the middle. Whilst batting a truncheon over his left hand he boomed, "Too boys like you really look like you might have some money. So how are you going to hand it over. The easy way or the hard way?" 

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