Riot
By Jones Jones
()
About this ebook
It's bleak, frightening and funny, all at once.
Jones Jones
Jones Jones was born in Wales in 1977, but now lives in West Yorkshire. He's had many jobs over the years, including working at a golf course, writing press releases and magazines for big companies, and selling books on a market stall. His short stories have been published in various online magazines, he self-published The Humiliation Triptych in 2012, and his novellas 'Marg' and ‘Riot’ are published by Salt.
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Riot - Jones Jones
RIOT
Riot is a raw, visceral rant by 18 year-old Mark Jones, a college student in a depressed area of Cardiff, South Wales. He’s hemmed in by apathy, sex and violence on all sides and despite his intelligence and humour, he’s sucked into small town life. Ultimately he escapes to Manchester, but something unexpected claws him back.
It’s bleak, frightening and funny, all at once.
"The first book by Welsh writer Jones Jones is a compact, elegant little volume containing ten short stories and a novella. Titled The Humiliation Triptych, its presentation is impressive, with neat hardback binding and a sprinkling of absurd, Victorian-style illustrations that – despite being largely random – marry perfectly with the general feel of the writing." Neon Magazine
"MARG is an exceptionally well written page-turner and a very strong start for both writer Jones Jones and Salt Publishing’s new Modern Dreams range. Highly recommended." WAYNE SIMMONS
JONES JONES was born in Wales in 1977, but now lives in West Yorkshire. He’s had many jobs over the years, including working at a golf course, writing press releases and magazines for big companies, and selling books on a market stall. His short stories have been published in various online magazines, he self-published The Humiliation Triptych in 2012, and his novellas Marg and Riot are published by Salt.
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Published by Salt Publishing Ltd
12 Norwich Road, Cromer, Norfolk NR27 0AX
All rights reserved
Copyright © Jones Jones, 2014
The right of Jones Jones to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Salt Publishing.
Salt Publishing 2014
Created by Salt Publishing Ltd
This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN 978-1-78463-017-1 electronic
Inhalt
RIOT
RIOT
The cause of the Cardiff riots is the looters; opportunistic, arrogant, amoral young criminals who believe they have the right to steal, burn and destroy. There were no extenuating circumstances and no excuses. Severe sentences must follow.
Comment on Cardiff Leader Online
No matter how hard I hit Stevie Jen, he carries on giving it back. After watching The Fighter, me and him wrap scarves around our knuckles and knock fuck out of each other in my front room. Sweating buckets we are. Dancing like dicks, naked from the waist up. Council house versions of Alan Bates and Oliver Reed.
He’s a thin, wiry fuck, Stevie. Pale too. Bony torso, ribcage like a stray dog. Dappled with ginger freckles and blue veins, he is. Tiny nipples. But he’s hard as nails. We’re pummeling each other. First him, then me, then him again, ‘til my mam puts her head round the door:
You’re eighteen years of age! Soft as shit, y’are. Both of you.
I don’t see him much in college nowadays. Rum as fuck, he is; runs about with all the scavs. Some of the estate lot too. Like Wes Edwards, who’s mam has Stout tattooed on one tit and Mild on the other. Stick hairspray cans up their jumpers in class they do, Stevie and Wes. Then they press the nozzle and suck like fuck for a filtered lung-full of aerosol. First time I saw them do it, Stevie nearly passes out. Eyes go into the top of his head.
Doesn’t give a fuck about lectures, Stevie, just pleases himself. Comes and goes. One afternoon, when I was in Business Management, him and Eds were shagging Cerrys Howell right outside my window. Gives me the thumbs-up, Stevie does.
Doesn’t enjoy himself half so much at home. Me and him are on the Wii in his mam and dad’s front room, kicking six shades of shit out of each other on ‘Mortal Kombat Armageddon’. Stevie’s little brother Greg comes down and sits by us in front of the settee. He’s not so little, though. Not so thin as Stevie. Taller too. Been at a