Territorial

September 15, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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For as far back as I can remember, London has always been my city. Yes, it’s changed over the years but it’s still the city I know and it’s still mine. I love London and I will never leave.

One typical cold cloudy London night, I walked along the Southbank of the River Thames. I was walking with no purpose. Just at a loose end, walking to walk. My mind was deep in thought on how much this city has changed. I looked, marvelling at the Tower of London whose brick towers, turrets and mortar are so wonderfully drenched in the blood of such beautifully brutal history.

To my frustration, my thoughts were interrupted by a loud, shrilly scream coming from the river’s edge. Upon looking over the rain, I saw a man twelve feet below on the stony, muddy bank. He was somewhat tall, about 6’1”, dressed in a rather smart grey suit. The man was shrieking in terror, crying for the figure six yards before him to leave him alone. The weird figure was a mystery to me; about 6’ wearing old Celtic robes which surrounded its face…or what I imagined would be its face. It had broad arms and had a thumb and two fingers on what I assumed to be hands. Its robe lined the riverbank around it. From the way it moved, it seemed it had legs too. The figure loud and violently hissed at the man before him in Ancient Gaelic. I only managed to catch one word; domain.

“Excuse me,” I called down to the figure now only standing three feet from his victim. “Would you mind repeating that in English please? I don’t think the man understands.”
The foul beast then roared with clear translation:
“This man is in my domain. This has always been my domain. To trespass is to know death.” The figure locked eyes at his trespasser and resumed its advance.

I was angered by the beast’s words and decided to speak up at a more unforgiving tone.
“Your domain? Well I should tell you, foul creature…”
The creature spun from his victim and hurried towards me. His face shadowed by his cloak. I could feel the hint of terror in its eyes as I leapt from my place; met it nose to darkness and tipped my hat backed to meet his gaze.
In a blunt voice, I spoke: “It is you who trespasses on another’s domain and this will not be tolerated. Are we clear?” Words were exchanged and it seemed the creature and I arrived at an understanding. It made a swift, panicked exit towards the murk of the water and disappeared from view.

The feeble man approached me, trembling from the terror. I stared down at him and waiting what meek words were about to force through his quivering mouth.
“Th…thank you sir.” He sheepishly bleated. I nodded and readjusted my hat.

That poor man. He should’ve left it be. He made the mistake of asking: “Did you save me be…because you’re a demon hunter?”

“NO!” I barked as I slashed his face with my claws.
“I did it because I, like that creature, am VERY territorial.”

The man screamed and ran; his pathetic face in ribbons as I leapt back to my path to continue my stroll.

As again I walk along to dull flow of the Thames I begin to question whether the people of London remember me. I concluded that it was perhaps time to again make London aware of my presence, and let them once again fear the name

Spring Heel Jack.

Credit To: Cockney Pasta

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