The Troubles

Northern Ireland, 1971

The tyres of Elliot's bike bumped over each cobble along the street as he cycled down, slightly pushing up the sleeves of his denim jacket to get a better grip on the handles. He knew it clashed with the grey uniform, but what do you have to do to be your own in such days? Screeching to a stop, he looked at the front door of house number 32, waiting for a decent three minutes before yelling up into the upstairs window. 

"McCormick, you lazy prick, get a move on!" 

His smile quickly faded as Mr McCormick stuck out his head, a disapproving expression resting on his face. 

"Joseph will be out in a few minutes." The window slammed shut, Elliot's stomach sinking in shame and a hint of the usual fear when confronted with Mr McCormick. The front door opened, and Joseph struggled to shove his bike through it, cackling with amusement. 

"You twat!" he shouted, smacking Elliot over the head as he finally pulled the bike through. "Stop giving me dad reasons to hate you, ye absolute wanker."

Elliot retaliated with a laugh, and set off cycling. "We're too far through that now, I think I've done the worst."

Fragments of blinding sunlight glinted through the tunnel of arched trees as they cycled through it, sticking their arms out and standing up on the ride. A mighty cry of laughter was audible as Elliot slipped sideways off his bike, and almost careered into a tree, accompanied with the usual shout of 'prick!'. The grey tarmac on this road was far smoother than the cobbles outside Joe's house, making it more enjoyable to skid on - this activity took longer than expected. After this realisation, they set off, finally arriving to their netherworld, the grey building looming over them. Each face set in an expression of disgust, they shared a look and set their bikes against the railings before entering. 

"I really don't suppose you would care to enlighten us on the key features of the 1798 Irish Rebellion would you, Mr Morris?"

Elliot jerked his head up from his dreaming reverie, a fraction too late after being jabbed violently in the elbow with a pencil. 

"Yes, sir."

Lenny Hadwin's irking laugh was audible from the back of the classroom, resulting in a 'shut up, Lenny' from most of the irritated students. 

"You're funny, Morris. How about an essay tomorrow night? Would that get anything into your brain, ey?" Mr Roland quipped, walking between the desks and smacking Elliot on the back of the head with a textbook. A pretty heavy textbook, truth be told. Elliot's lip curled in annoyance as Joe shot him an exasperated look. The door of the classroom slammed open and Gregory Shales walked in, with a dejected sigh, earning a glance from everyone in the room. 

"A reason for your tardiness, Shales?" 

"Yeah," Greg muttered, hastily pulling a crumpled piece of notepaper from his blazer pocket, and holding it out to Mr Roland, who snatched it with a discreet glare, before skimming it over with his eyes, and lending a small nod, handing it back before continuing with the lesson. Elliot glanced over at Joe, who was also evidently trying to decrypt the small conversing. By break, most people were gathered around Greg in an attempt to find out how he'd gotten away with missing thirty minutes of history. 

"Family matter, ain't it," he replied secretively, shrugging them off. "I'm nae licensed to tell." 

Disappointed, the gaggle of boys dispersed, and resorted back to whining about maths, as Elliot caught up with Greg. 

"Aye, Greg, are you alright? Family matter ain't anything serious is it?" 

"Nah, mate, don't fret. Say anything's a family matter, the school steps out of it. It's law, I reckon. Me dad can't make the trip into town, s'all, so he gave me a call. Me mam'll probably force me into church again."