Posted Sat Sep 19, 2015 | 518 Words | Tagged story chav

(For international readers, please read the footnote at the end for this to make more sense. Thanks!)

He was a CEO for some large corporate nonsense. I say was, that was until he found a new group of mates. I say ‘found’ a new group of mates, they found him.

He was on a business trip to Leeds and his train had broken down and he was panicking and desperate to make this meeting on time. He was checking his phone for any train that would get him anywhere towards Leeds. A moment of fear rolled down him when he saw the only way for him to possibly make this meeting would be to get on a Northern Rail service.

He decided to brave it, and hope it would be ok. It wasn’t reassuring when the train wasn’t one of the “newer” trains and instead it looked old, and quite frankly needed to be scrapped. He really wish he could stay in London all of the time as he could actually rely on it.

Happy enough he managed to get on and was soon on his way. At the next stop however, a bunch of ‘scum’ as he called them had got on, drinking cans of beer and just being generally rude. Worse, they had decided to sit near him.

He was reading away and looked up when the train started to slow as so he could see where they were. He also saw something dangling in front of him, pulsing vividly in different colours. Instantly he was mesmerised by the movement and his will left him.

As his mouth became relaxed enough, he felt some liquid enter his mouth. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had never had it before. Then he was being helped out of his suit and into some other clothes. Then he was quite happily drinking away with the other lads, as if nothing else mattered.

They all got off, including him, at some other stop. He couldn’t remember what, he was already incredibly drunk and wasn’t thinking. Then when they got off, one of them punched him right in the face. Hard enough to cause damage. It was what was needed to cause his bones to creak and make him unrecognisable. His thinking slowed down as well, needing the lads to help him remember even the simplest stuff. He could just about remember his name, never mind how to spell it.

Then a final taste of something different. Some liquid one of the lads had in their pockets and his scrawny arms started to fill out the top which currently looked like a tent on him. His chest also filled out and then the rest of him.

Now he was one of the lads and he was ready to go out on the town.

Footnote: Northern Rail is a train operator in the United Kingdom who have run-down trains (which were actually based on the design of a bus due to cheapness and speed of being built at the time) which are 40 years old and were told be ‘temporary’.