Speed Bumps

Speed Bumps- by Joshua Johnson 3rd September 2012

There they were, evenly spaced out down the tar mac road, laying down, one by one, under the airy orange glow of the dull street lamps, that dimly lit up Apple Tree Lane. But don’t be fooled by the nice sounding name. In reality, it’s a pretty rough area. It hadn’t always been a rough area. It used to be quite a nice place to live about forty or so years ago, it’s just lately when newer and smarter houses had been built, and these small simple houses lost money and became cheap, so that anybody could move in to them. A rough area with a nice name, just like all of the streets on the Estate. Buttercup Cresent for example, or how about Strawberry Meadow Avenue, which was just ridiculous, or possibly even Sunflower Street, which was a joke because the only type of plant that Sunflower Street has grown was cannabis. They were all just fairytale over the top style names. But down this road, Apple Tree Lane, was Them. The Things that looked like dark shadows laying across the road, from one side of the road to the other side of the dark road, all the way down from one end of the street to the other end of the street. The sleeping policeman was the name that some people named them by, but they were more commonly known as: Speed Bumps.
The speed bumps that looked scary in the dark.
The speed bumps that looked like dark shadows of people laid down in the darkness waiting to jump up and get you the moment that you walked past them.
The speed bumps, just the speed bumps.
What is the purpose that they are meant to serve?
The mission that they yet to complete?
The task that is yet to be confirmed a success?
One of the answers is, of course, to slow people down and to stop boy racers speeding down the street. But realistically, they just annoy people. The speed bumps, not the boy racers, although they annoy people just as much, and if not more.
The answers don’t exist.
But on this particular night they were waiting to come out as quite useful.
Sergeant Colewell and PC Smokes, of Ivy Village, had been posted to the Estate, and at this specific time had just been radioed in to a job, concerning a boy racer with stolen goods loaded in to his Peugeot.
“Black Peugeot, speeding along near the Estate, Colewell 1996 and Smokes 0415 please, your on the job. Reported stolen goods in the back seats, and possibly the boot. Take a left left and follow on. Over.” the fuzzy noise of a walkie talkie abruptly stopped, before a reply was broadcast.
“Sergeant Colewell, 1996, message received and understood. Over.” sergeant Colewell replied, in his deep voice.
“Thank you.” came the short fuzzy sounding reply.
Colewell turned on the sirens, and bright blue lights, that lit up the area, as they thou were at a disco with neon blue flashing party lights.
PC Smokes rubbed his hands together, and waited for the excitement to begin.
This annoyed Colewell greatly, as he could be seen rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.
Colewell had been in the job for twenty four years now, and had worked his way up to Sergeant status, and took his job very seriously. However, this young ones, like Smokes, who was the ripe age of twenty seven annoyed him very much, because he thought that contrast to him, they didn’t take their role in the Ivy Village Police Force very seriously.
He seemed to think that Colewell and the other “young uns” saw being in the Police Force as more of a reputation, a status in society, and a profession to wow the ladies, especially as they, especially Smokes, seemed more focused on what his hair looked like, than if the nineteen year old lad carrying the knife and a carrier bag of stolen food from the local corner shop on the Estate had been caught and convicted or not.
But right now Sergeant Colewell didn’t have much time to have a rant and a good old moan, as he was currently speeding down a main road.
He saw the Black Peugeot ahead, and he could piles of plastic black bin bags and cardboard boxes piled to the roof in the back seats.
He put the car in to the next gear, and put his foot down, accelerating .
The Black Peugeot turned sharply to it’s right, and sped down the nearest street.
Sergeant Colewell quickly followed, turned the police car with that much force that the wheels screeched and Smokes and himself were thrown to the side.
He accelerated once again, racing down a long straight street, covered in smashed alcohol bottles and empty cigarette packets, with the car interior being lit up with orange every few seconds with moving shadows as they sped under street lamp after street lamp.
But then, suddenly, the Black Peugeot braked sharply, forcing Colewell to do the same. A loud screeching sound of hot tyres being dragged along the glass shard filled tar mac filled the air.
But Colewell and Smokes didn’t have to time to recover.
The Black Peugeot was off again, but this time Colewell and Smokes smiled to themselves simultaneously.
They had won. Not yet, but the knew that they would.
The boy racer of the Black Peugeot obviously didn’t come to the area very much, and for that reason obviously didn’t know t very well.
Colewell and Smokes both knew that if they had been a boy racer on the run from the police with a car full of stolen goods, then they would go down any street where they could get away as fast as they could.
Or, being policeman, they probably be awkward and say that they would turn themselves in, but they didn’t mean that.
But instead the boy racer driver of the Black Peugeot had been a bit stupid, and had decided to turn down one street that if you’re trying to race away you just wouldn’t turn down.
That street: Apple Tree Lane.
The street that was full with speed bump after speed bump.
Crammed full of them.
They were no way that the Black Peugeot would manage to get down there quickly.
But, as all boy racers do, they would give it a good old go and attempt the challenge, just the give the whole situation a bit more adrenaline and make it that tad bit more interesting.
As though it needed any of those things.
But for Colewell and Smokes, they could see their target with their hungry eyes, and a other arrest meant another positive on their records, and another story to tell.
They pulled off, bouncing over the speed bumps quickly and being thrown up and down and left and right, side to side.
The boy racers decided to push the Black Peugeot to it’s limits. They accelerated, and sped off with smoke from the tyres hiding them from view in the already dark orangey street.
Colewell swore and thumped the steering wheel.
He thought that he had had them.
But just then, the Black Peugeot bounced off a speed bump, and hit hard back on the impact of the ground, not giving it enough distance to fly over the next speed bump, causing the low front end bumper to crunch in to it, which made the Black Peugeot spin to the right and stall, bumping angrily in to the nearby chewing gum stained remaining part of a curb on the side of the road.
The engine cut out.
The boy racer could be seen cursing.
Colewell and Smokes had got them.
Another arrest under their belts.
And so it was fair to say that sometimes speed bumps do come in useful, and they really were sleeping policeman, just like these sleeping policeman down Apple Tree Lane had been.
But they were always ready to help the real policemen to be of assistance in an arrest, and they loved nothing more than a good old car chase.
They were worth waking up for.
Even if they were inanimate objects and couldn’t move.
The End.

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