Viktor "The Devil" (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hellfire_andfury) wrote2021-05-04 03:21 pm
hellfire_andfury) wrote2021-05-04 03:21 pm
Our Son is a Delinquent
Viktor had enough.
He threw the empty vodka bottle at the wall of his house and watched it smash. He was eighteen years old and his father had been arrested. Again. What was it? The fourth time now? He'd lost count. The fucking cop car was around the front of the drive and two officers were now questioning his mother regarding her husband's illegal activities. Mostly involving the stolen cars he was selling on the estate and pawning off to other dodgy car traders.
Life was shit.
Viktor wanted a life but what did he have? His father was never around because he spent most of his time getting drunk down the pub or busy with his "business associates." He never had time to spend with his only son. The boy that had grown up with little or no fatherly guidance. Their boy was a criminal himself, having been arrested only last week for smashing up someone's garage. They had made home-made fire bombs and thrown them at the door. Criminal damage. The police came and gave the three delinquents, including Viktor, a night in the cells. Juvenile delinquents they called them.
He was a delinquent.
His bike and voice were all he had in life now. He could sing and he could make fire bombs and do up his bike. Oh, and he was very good at punching other men. Wrestling too. But who would take a criminal into their boxing ring or wrestling ring? No one. As for wanting a career as a rock singer? Fuck that. It was looking like shit as usual. Viktor hopped over the neighbour's fence and ran. He ran as hard as he could until he was at least a mile away from his house and the cops.
Fuck it all.
As for his bike? The cops had seized it and it was now locked up in some fucking garage in town by the cop shop. That's where all the criminal bike gang's bikes went. Tonight though, he would break in with his mates and get his bike back. Fucking wankers. He'd also go into town and get supplies to make some new fire bombs to throw at the cop shop window.
It would be a good night.
He threw the empty vodka bottle at the wall of his house and watched it smash. He was eighteen years old and his father had been arrested. Again. What was it? The fourth time now? He'd lost count. The fucking cop car was around the front of the drive and two officers were now questioning his mother regarding her husband's illegal activities. Mostly involving the stolen cars he was selling on the estate and pawning off to other dodgy car traders.
Life was shit.
Viktor wanted a life but what did he have? His father was never around because he spent most of his time getting drunk down the pub or busy with his "business associates." He never had time to spend with his only son. The boy that had grown up with little or no fatherly guidance. Their boy was a criminal himself, having been arrested only last week for smashing up someone's garage. They had made home-made fire bombs and thrown them at the door. Criminal damage. The police came and gave the three delinquents, including Viktor, a night in the cells. Juvenile delinquents they called them.
He was a delinquent.
His bike and voice were all he had in life now. He could sing and he could make fire bombs and do up his bike. Oh, and he was very good at punching other men. Wrestling too. But who would take a criminal into their boxing ring or wrestling ring? No one. As for wanting a career as a rock singer? Fuck that. It was looking like shit as usual. Viktor hopped over the neighbour's fence and ran. He ran as hard as he could until he was at least a mile away from his house and the cops.
Fuck it all.
As for his bike? The cops had seized it and it was now locked up in some fucking garage in town by the cop shop. That's where all the criminal bike gang's bikes went. Tonight though, he would break in with his mates and get his bike back. Fucking wankers. He'd also go into town and get supplies to make some new fire bombs to throw at the cop shop window.
It would be a good night.