The Boy in Blue

The red light blinks furiously as he keeps the camcorder pointed at the affray. He is tired, but his piggy eyes- pink- rimmed, and sunken in his face, remain focused in on the scene that unfurls before him as he tries not to let his personal life interfere with his work.
It is a dreary morning, freezing cold and drizzling, the rain whipping into his face like little knives. He shivers, cold despite his ample extra flesh. He pulls the collars of his fleece, police overcoat and neon yellow flack-jacket closer about his neck. His hands clutch the camcorder tightly with chubby white sausage fingers, numb and exposed, poking out of the ends of his fingerless gloves.
The biting wind is making his nose run; he sniffs and wipes away the dribble of mucus with the back of his hand, leaving a translucent snail trail along his cheek. One of his colleagues cracks a joke to lift the mood of the downtrodden team and he sniggers, his lip curling up to the left in a half smile, exposing two yellowed front teeth that are long and rabbit-like. He shifts around on his feet, legs aching from being stood still so long. He coughs, feeling the podgy ring of flesh under his chin wobble, and he thinks again how unfit he is. All the other men on his team are lean and getting younger by the day. The old cliché about cops loving their donuts now rings tired and false. He resolves to sign himself up to that Slimming World thing that his wife Maureen keeps leaving leaflets lying around for. ‘Tonight, I’ll start tonight.’ Muttered under his breath, but he knows that it’ll be another broken promise, just like all the others.