What Three Words by Graham Crisp

“Boss, come quickly, it’s turning ugly!” A red face peered around the office door; anxiety was written right across the slightly tanned countenance. 

Jim looked up and hurriedly donned his blue hard hat. He could hear screams and cries mingled in with whoops and high-pitched yelling. 

Outside Jim was confronted by a mass of men and women of all ages, some wearing full-face balaclavas, tearing down fences and attacking diggers and dumpers with bricks and stones. 

Jim muttered out loud, “This can’t be happening.” 

He grabbed his phone. “Police please, yes, I’m the foreman on a site in Brackley, we are being overrun by protesters, there’s flippin’ hordes of them … no they’re not attacking us, just smashing the place up … and, hang on, what you saying?” 

Jim looked at his companion, who had just dodged a stray flying brick. “She’s saying ‘what three words’. What the ‘kin ‘ell is that?” Jim knitted his eyebrows. 

Another brick headed in their direction, Jim and his sidekick swayed out of danger. “It’s an app, Jim, it tells you exactly where you are.” 

Jim groaned and raised his voice, “An app! I haven’t got time for flippin’ apps”. Jim shouted down the phone, “Look lady, I know exactly where I am, I just need a van load of coppers to stop this carnage.” 

“suggested. belief. revise.” 

“Come again?” Jim looked puzzled. 

“Just tell her those three words, Jim, she’ll pinpoint our precise location, it’ll be quicker, go on.” 

Jim took a deep breath, “suggested. belief. revise.” 

Five minutes later the familiar sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. The mob had begun to retreat, leaving behind them a mass of broken glass, mangled metalwork and a handmade sign saying … ‘STOP HS2”. 


Published in Issue #16

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