“Growing up in a shit hole council estate has it's advantages you know, you learn to survive”
I’ll never forget those words. They were my uncles last words before he was taken by
a dozen or more unhinged and ravenous shadows, they dragged him off kicking and screaming into the darkness. “why him?” I screamed. But it was too late. He was gone.
That’s just how it works, these things are nasty and over time you learn to adapt to the hate and negativity, feeding into the endless cycle of struggle and pain. They sit and wait and if they want you for whatever reason it may be, They come from the shadows and take you. My uncle was a good guy who still had many stories left to tell, song to be sang and mistake to be made. He was a foolish guy who let silly mistakes eventually get the better of him, regardless of how much good he done equally.
Survival is the main word around here, from the single mothers struggling to make it to the end of the week, trying to feed her children or the homeless person sat in the doorway asking for some spare money as if anyone really got any spare. It’s a bleak place filled with animosity wherever you go, the days of people saying hello and smiling graciously are now replaced with paranoid stares of despair and anxiety. Silence fills most areas as if it is a mission to travel from one destination to another after a certain time or when darkness falls. Shadows lurk in the alley ways and scurry across the building roof tops striking fear into anyone who walks. We call them
The Breed, a nightmare of sinister proportions, the worst kind of humans all gathered into one group to spread fear and terror amongst what they deem the “Weak minded” toying with their victims despite some saying they have seen their loved ones but they deny knowledge of being that person, most people who fall trap to the breed are never heard from or seen again.
“Now I’m the latest person to fall victim to The Breed. What do they want with me?”