Moonrakers

In South West England lay Wiltshire; a countryside county, abundant with crop circles and pre-Roman archaeology. Nestled snugly in its heart was Deviza; a quaint and historic market town, often referred to as Wiltshire’s ‘hidden gem’. This wasn’t an opinion shared by the teenagers who lived there, who instead considered it more like your average rock: dull, rough, and boring.

There was a market cross in the middle of the town centre, made from Bath Stone which shone a luminous pale gold at nightfall in response to the surrounding streetlights. The monument had been built in 1812 to signify Deviza as a market town. Every Friday the car park was cleared in favour of the market stalls, which held such things as fruit, vegetables, flowers, and handmade jewelry.

On this particular Friday, in early May, the market was cancelled due to rain. It had been raining in Deviza, in a way it hadn’t rained for a while: in liquid sheets that drenched everything exposed in seconds. It had continued like this into the evening, leaving the streets near empty by sunset.

Two of those who had been caught in the downpour had taken shelter beneath one of the four arches of the market cross. They were a peculiar pair. One of them was dressed in a slim, grey pinstripe suit, white trainers, and had his mid-brown hair was gelled into a high quiff. His attire, however, was nothing compared to that of his rotund friend, who was dressed in a full-body penguin costume. Both of them were smoking, and passing a small bottle of vodka back and forth between them.

A police officer, known as PC Morton, was busy patrolling the area in a yellow and green checkered police car. As he drove through the town centre, mumbling angrily to himself about the ludicrousness of English weather, he noticed the two bizarre looking figures, and pulled up into a parking space in front of the northern arch of the market cross. Within moments of stepping out of the car, his white shirt was damp against his skin, and the ends of his trousers were becoming heavy from the moisture they were gathering from the ground. He marched determinedly forward, ascending the low steps of the market cross, and stopping just behind the duo.

'You shouldn't be drinking on the streets now, should you?'

The two turned round with a start, their cigarettes falling limp in their mouths at the sight of him.

'Come on then, let me have your names.'

The boy removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled slowly. Gentle fumes of white smoke poured out from the boy's mouth and nose. It obscured his face, though his brilliantly green eyes shone through the fog, remaining fixed upon the officer’s own. 'Damian Day,’ he replied calmly.

'Abby Slinkard,' said his friend, surprising the officer -- he hadn't realised the chubby face beneath the penguin's beak belonged to a girl.

'I'm going to have to to take that off you,' PC Morton said, gesturing towards the bottle in Abby's hand. She frowned but handed it over to him, watching as he poured the remaining contents down the drain. ‘I assume you’re dressed this way for a party?’

‘Oi,’ Damian replied, feigning a look of hurt.

‘Don’t get funny with me,' the officer retorted, gruffly. 'Do you want me to take you straight home to your parents?’

‘Not right now, no . . . ’ Damian said, as if contemplatively. He took a drag from his cigarette, and then exhaled it in what the officer took to be an obnoxious manner. ‘Can we flag you down after the party though?’

His friend snorted whilst the officer shook his head at them. He was thankful that it was nearing the end of his shift; he was tired, and aching for the warmth of his home. ‘These are your options: either I take you home now, or I discuss with the parents in charge whether they’d allow you to enter the party intoxicated.'

‘But we’re not even drunk!’ Damian protested. 'And Noelle would kill me if she saw me bringing a fucking police officer in with me . . . I’m not even technically invited to this party tonight--'

Abby let out a snort as the officer narrowed his eyes at him.

Damian shrugged; ‘It’s all in the name of love, innit officer? In my opinion, to love hopelessly, is to live a little audaciously. Besides, I tried really hard with this costume. I have a sonic screw driver and everything -- check it out.’

He proceeded to withdraw a plastic toy version of the iconic Doctor Who tool from his trouser pocket, and twirled it round with his fingers, whilst the officer watched on, grimly considering just how little respect the youth of today had for authority. He cast a quick glance down at his wristwatch; he only had a couple minutes of his shift left, and then he could go home. The rain had let up significantly, but the wind was still chilly. How nice it would be, to go to bed . . .

He looked up to where Damian was still busy playing with the toy, excited to discover a button that caused a blue light to shine from it. He directed it at the officer, who blinked with discomfort in the sudden blue glow that was shining upon his face. ‘Come on Officer. You seem like a sound guy, and laws should never overrule conscience. ’

With a scowl, the officer covered the light with his hand and pushed it forcefully away from his face. ‘Oh,’ he snarled, ‘just piss off!’

They didn’t need to be told twice. After Damian declared the officer ‘an utter ledge!’ he and Abby hurriedly headed out into the spitting rain. Their insolent laughter could still be heard, even after they’d crossed the road and begun descending the steps into the nightclub know as the 'Corn Bin.'

The officer gave a sad look at the floor of the historic monument --which had been built from the very same outer bailey of the once great Deviza Castle -- for burning out pathetically at his feet, were the cigarette butts the two of them had tossed to the ground before they’d left.