Free The Prometheus Effect by Jonathan Davison

spokesman yet. He imagined that Whitehall and surrounding areas would be inundated with nervous and inquisitive media.
     
    Joshua drove on a few blocks and began to see sight that he feared the most, he guessed that it was inevitable but it did not make it any more palatable. Groups of hooded youths began to emerge from seemingly every alleyway and crevice in the concrete jungle that was the nation's capital. Joshua laughed to himself, it amused him that normally, most of these feral cretins could barely get out of bed before noon but today they had risen in their droves to make the most of the populations plight. These types of people drove Joshua mad and he had little time for their sorts. As he approached a small posse of young men with intent etched into their faces, he even slowed and wound down his window.
     
    “ Where are you going?” He hollered, feeling protected in the hard shell of his vehicle.
     
    “ Shopping!” Replied one of the gang followed by laughter from the others.
     
    “ Go home. What's makes you special? Haven’t you seen the warning?” Joshua yelled revealing a compassionate exterior despite his inwardly cynical posture.
     
    “ Fuck yourself.” Came the somewhat expected reply. It preceded one of the gang moving towards the stationary car and kicking the door panel violently. Joshua reeled at the disgraceful attack but thought better than to challenge them any further. After all, it was a job car which took the sting out of it somewhat.
     
    Joshua moved on realising that the number of people on the streets seemed to have grown in the time he had been protesting. As he neared the office which he was glad was in a particularly lightly populated area of London, the pedestrians thinned out a little but it was clear that there was going to be imminent trouble as another army vehicle passed him at speed.
     
    Suddenly, from in his rear view mirror, a flash of movement gave the journalist only the briefest of warnings that an impact was imminent. A jarring thud hurled Joshua's car across the pavement and into the fascia of a grey, 1960's style office block. The shock of this surprise assault was great and the reporter arched his spine in pain as he gained his bearings. The steering wheel had buckled under the weight of his torso and it was clear that he was lucky to still be aware enough to extricate him from the crumpled car and crawl out to the pavement where the remains of his headlights greeted his hands with their sharp and spiteful form.
     
    It was clear as he rose to his feet, that another car had smashed forcefully into his right rear and spun him round off the road. This other vehicle now lay in the centre of the road. Its occupant had left the car...through the windscreen. A dark and crumpled body adorned the roadside a number of metres from the vehicle, it was clear that the driver was either unconscious or dead.
     
    Joshua limped over to the forlorn figure. A young dark skinned male stared vacantly into the sky, the top of his head in tatters. There was a darkened trail of macabre bone fragments and other soft tissues that led from beneath his body off in the direction of the steaming Nissan saloon car which could not have rightly been the property of the deceased. He was simply too young and too inappropriately attired to be the owner.
     
    Joshua sighed deeply and shook his head at the sight of another young life wasted in ignorance. It was not the first time the journalist had seen a dead body, but it was the first time he had had a hand in someone’s death. It felt awful despite the clear fact that he could not have done anything to prevent it.
     
    Joshua looked around for some kind of aid. He could not ring the police to assess the situation nor did he feel right just leaving the scene. This was somebody's son. It did not matter that he might be a hoodlum or petty thief, he deserved some kind of ordered memorial. Something however, told Joshua that it was senseless to sit and