Escape From The Country- NEW CRIME FICTION.
CONTENT WARNING: This story features some characters who use offensive racist and misogynistic language. There are also references to drug use and descriptions of violence.
Hello Readers. Thank you for joining me on The JasonWard Creative Substack. Every two weeks I will post another chapter of my crime novel Escape From The Country which looks at the recent race riots in England. Take out a paid subscription to be the first to read every chapter in its entirety and get access to over one hundred articles, interviews, short stories, podcasts and playlists. Enjoy the story and please let me know what you think. Cheers Jason
CHAPTER ONE
Stuart Hill was still sweating when he finally shut the door to his Aldershot bedsit at 1:13am. He could feel the wet under his arms and the sweaty drips sliding down his back into his arse crack. His forehead was damp, his lips tasted salty and despite tiredness and thirst he knew he could go again and that soon he would go again.
His heart was racing. He didn’t know that adrenaline was making his hands shaky or that cocaine was making him feel invincible and that he would very soon crash as the effects of both wore off.
What he knew was that tonight he had achieved something. After 46 years of taking shit, being told he knew nothing, and living worse than the fucking ragheads, tonight Stuart Hill had turned the tide. Tonight, he had been part of something bigger: a group of warrior patriots who were finally taking their country back from the wokes, the blacks, the gays, the rapists, the Pakis, Jeremy Corbyn, the trannies and the fucking BBC.
Stuart Hill, at 46 years old, had stood in front of a fucking copper, a WPC as we should say, and had told her that she was a fucking disgrace to her country. She was so fucking ugly, he had told her, that she’d be lucky to get raped. She had knocked him down with her riot shield, but he had got right back up and told her that he was a proud Englishman who was coming to get her and her dyke mates.
He went to his wardrobe sized bathroom for a piss and looked at himself in the mirror. He pulled his blue Superdry t-shirt off over his head and looked at his chest. This morning, it had been flabby and formless but now definition was pushing through his pale skin. Shoulders a little wider, chest standing prouder and tummy a little firmer. His face looked different too. It now showed the lines of action and there was a cut on his left cheek that would hopefully leave him with a scar. Stuart thought it would be perfect for his new Tinder profile which he would update with the line ‘English Warrior Seeks True Patriot Princess’. Things were going to be different now.
He plugged his phone into charge and went straight to X for the latest. Another group of real fighters up North had beaten back the Police who were trying to protect illegal fighting age rapists from Syria. Now our boys were burning the fucking place down. He posted “Fucking good on ya lads – burn those fucking brown bastards and let’s get our country back” adding #tommyrobinson and #takeourcountryback. Stuart knew how to get views, and he had even had two likes from the fucking main man Tommy himself.
He took a can of Carlsberg from the small buzzing fridge next to the single bed that occupied one wall of his bedsit. He sat on the green duvet cover and looked across at the three white kitchen units opposite him. A two-ring portable electric hob stood on the work top. The only window in the place looked down over a yard full of broken furniture and the back of the rat meat kebab shop. This is what the invaders, the Lefties and the fucking teachers have done to me he thought. He spoke out loud raising his can to some imaginary crowd of patriots “If I had arrived in this country on a fucking dinghy, they would have given me a house, paid my bills and bought me a fucking Range Rover too.”
He downed the beer, started his second can (which was also his last) and then opened up PornHub on his phone to help him sleep.
Roberta Warren waited for the dark solid gates to open and the security light to come on before edging her black Porsche Cayenne off the Passatge de les Dames in Palma’s North District and onto her paved driveway. The double-width gunmetal garage doors rolled up on smooth tracks as she approached and a soft glow from inside welcomed her home.
The car edged inside, and Roberta heard the garage doors hiss shut, sealing her in. The tension she felt dissolved like the Mediterranean mist she watched getting burnt off by the sun every morning.
Her phone buzzed again inside her blue Kate Spade bag reminding her that all she had written about how immigrant murderers would provoke patriots had now been proven right.
Tonight, she had felt the charge of power surge through her while watching the people rise up against the Lefties, global elites and Islamists that she had been describing since 2012’s Woke Olympics. The crowds had even chanted the phrase she had helped formulate: “Stop the Boats”
Roberta Warren the daughter of an investment banker, educated at Roedean and Cambridge and wife of Catalan tech investor Jordi Belmont, was now the woman who could put all those bloody socialists like Starmer, Khan and Campbell in their place. They called it riots but she called it victory.
She kicked off her shoes in the grand living room and felt the cold marble on her stockinged feet. Through the French doors she saw Jordi on the terrace in front of the pool, pouring the Cava. Behind him the lights of Palma shone across the Bay.
She threw off her black Ralph Lauren blazer and undid the buttons on her gold Nili Lotan Gaia shirt feeling warm air on her skin. It was if the sea, sky and city all belonged to her now.
“Salut i força al canut!” Jordi toasted as their glasses chimed.
“It worked” she said “Just like you predicted. ‘Write for the Right and you’ll be alright’ Spot on Jordi B!”
“You got over a million views for ‘Go get them Rotherham’ Bobbi W” Jordi replied putting his hand on her waist.
As the couple kissed, Roberta’s phone buzzed again. A message that she didn’t check but later wished she had.
Thanks for reading Escape From The Country. I will post Chapter Two in two weeks time, on December 1st 2024 and by taking out a subscription you will be the first to read the next part of the story in its entirety. You will also help to support my writing. Thank you so much, Jason.