Take Back The City - Part One of the 'Life in London Town' series

6 - Centre Point

     "We were..."

     "You were what?" I asked. "You can shut your mouth and gulp down all the air in the world in just a few seconds, Oscar. Please," I begged. "What happened after you lost your way?"

    "We had to try to find a landmark," he wheezed. "One that would tell us where we were."

    “Like the sundial,” I interrupted.

    “Exactly,” said Oscar. “Unfortunately, as soon as we found the sundial, we came under attack. Heavy attack." he sighed. “Only seven emerged at first – one for each street entering the Dials – but as we began to fire on them more and more emerged – dozens, in fact.  We had to resort to desperate measures in order to escape; in fact, we had to resort to the same measures I ordered you to take.”

   I knew exactly what the next words out of his mouth would be. “You blew up the sundial,” I gasped.

   “We blew up the sundial, Nox. How do you think I was able to come up with that plan to save you from capture on Newburgh Street?”

    I couldn’t help but feel a little bit tearful; I often came down to Seven Dials with my old friends as a young teenager. We would often sit and rest on the steps under the column which propped up the sundial and watch the world float past us as the sun dipped below the peaks of the old warehouses and shops which surrounded us, dreaming optimistically of our futures. It, like almost everything else I’d once known, had slipped away into a world of dust and broken memories.

      I glanced over Oscar's plethora of unbearably painful-looking injuries. "I take it that that's the reason for all the cuts covering you, then," I said as I began to focus on his hands which, somewhat strangely, were smothered with more blood than any other part of his body.

      "The injuries," he said with a nervous chuckle, "were the result of a particularly acrobatic dive I had to perform in order to avoid the rubble. Unfortunately, it didn't go entirely to plan."

       "How so?" I asked

       "I was bombarded with debris," he replied. "I didn't get far enough away from the blast." I held onto one of his blood-soaked hands. "Just be thankful," he continued, his voice full of emotion, "that we're all still alive. Any of us could have died tonight, yet we're all still here." I found nothing but a quilt of serene confort from Oscar's words; unfortunately, not everybody felt the same way.

      Will thrust himself upwards and began to walk with the slightest limp towards New Oxford Street. He had hardly spoken a single word since I'd interrupted his tale of the ambush at Seven Dials; he had sat there motionless and silent the whole way through, doing little other than staring begrudgingly down at his own feet and trying his hardest to tune out to the conversation I was holding with Oscar.  “Where are you wandering off to, Will?” I asked in a rush as he continued to hobble onwards.

    “To Tottenham Court Road Station,” he spitefully replied.  “Oscar isn’t going to make it back to Holborn in that condition. I see that you aren't helping, Nox.”

     "Oh, I am sorry," I responded indignantly. "It's like you think I've just been lying about on my arse for the last three hours. I've been dashing about scared out of my mind the entire time!" Will stopped and stared into my eyes with a quick scowl. "I'm helping a friend in need, Nox," he spat in a vindictive voice so obviously designed to stab at my senses. "Unlike some people - not naming names, of course - I'm not going to leave my comrades to die." He swivelled indignantly on the spot, thrusting his beaky nose towards the night sky, before trudging off towards the road junction a couple of hundred feet away.