British Comedy Guide

The Fall of Mr Stevens

I know people usually put sketches/sitcoms in critique but I was wondering, if anyone had the time, whether they'd like to read one of my short stories? It's from a collection I'm thinking about developing based in a secondary school. It's not explicitly comedy but I'm trying to introduce comic elements to juxtapose the grittyness. I suppose it's a bit like John King or Bukowski - but obviously not as good. Anyway, anyone who's got the time to read it, I'd really appreciate your feedback.....

The Fall of Mr Stevens

Mr Stevens was a real pugnacious bastard. He didn't even deserve the prefix mister. We should have used his first name – C**t Stevens, probably. He was a small weasel of a man. He had long pointy features and tiny jet black eyes which gave no suggestion of life, love or dream. A pathetic beard straddled his chin and wisped off his face like brown smoke. It was hooked on by two small bright red ears which glowed a fiery hew when he got angry. He couldn't have been more than about thirty but we knew he still lived with his parents and had never been f**ked. We'd never been f**ked, but we were only eleven. We could tell Stevens pined over the other lab tech – Miss Moss. F**k it, we all did! She was in her mid-twenties and walked around this all-boys school in the shortest skirt you've ever seen. She may have had a face like a rotten apple for all we knew but all we cared about was her bottom half. There wasn't a soft-cock in the house when she walked past and her tight ass swung like a metronome as she wiggled down the corridor – as if she were counting the cocks she teased. And Stevens worshipped her but got absolutely nowhere. As an eleven year old lad you know when someone's perving on someone because you do it yourself all the time. You've got it refined to a fine art. All you need is a quick glance of fleshy leg and you've got your wanking image for the next three weeks. And we could all see Stevens' gaze following Moss round the room like a f**king stalker. But when it came to talking to her he became a blubbering wreck. If we didn't hate him so much it would have been tragic. F**king loser.

Mr Stevens wasn't a teacher, he was a lowly lab assistant. And not a science lab technician, he was an I.T drone. He couldn't pretend he was more important than he actually was by hiding behind his long white coat stained with iodine solution. No, Mr Stevens had nothing to protect him. He could only dream of setting up experiments and arranging bunsen burners. All that poor little prick did was wipe the school network of all the soft porn which had been downloaded throughout the day – mostly by the teachers. Miss Moss was never going to be impressed by that.

The kids were all too aware of the hierarchy of the playground and the Staff Room. We knew who to mess with and who not to. We knew how far to push people because we'd all had our fingers burned. But that gave us a kind of sixth sense. We could feel when someone was above someone – or at least felt they were above someone. We weren't stupid and we could tell that the teachers looked down on Mr Stevens. We could see it in their eyes – "What's the matter Mr Stevens, couldn't you get a proper teaching job?" Even the other techs looked down on him. And the helpers for the ‘special' kids. He probably had a separate part of the Staff Room where he drank his own ribena which he had brought from home incase it was ‘tampered with' by any of the teachers. As if they cared about tampering with Mr Stevens' f**king drink. They knew they were above Stevens and as a result they didn't have to prove it. The problem comes when people don't know they're above someone. They think they might be but they fear they're not. This spells trouble because then they've got to prove it.

Mr Stevens was in this position with all the kids. We knew the teachers didn't respect him and this gave us plenty of ammunition. I remember one day in I.T Mark Crowther put up his hand trying to get the I.T teacher Mr Culverwell's attention.

"Sir, I can't do my spreadsheet. Excel's not working!" Crowther exclaimed.

Culverwell didn't hear but Mr Stevens did. He strutted over to Crowther and lent over him, enclosing him in his seat with his arms, "What you want, kid?"

"F**k off, Stevens. I want some help from a proper teacher," shouted Crowther as the room erupted in laugher.

Stevens stood up straight and blinked around the room like a scared little faggot caught sucking off a queer in a local park. Thirty little faces staring at him. Sixty little eyes piercing his soul and boring into him. He fidgeted on the spot for a moment before twatting Crowther round the ear and scuttling back into his tech room like a hideous spider. Crowther was left clutching his face, slumped on his keyboard. Stevens peeked out from his room a couple of times during the lesson but he never ventured out again. He wasn't sure whether he had won that battle or had lost horrifically.

You hit a kid and the news gets round the school quicker than Jessie f**king Owens running away from the Nazis. But this was a regular occurrence with Stevens. Had it been Miss Moss we'd have been talking about it for weeks. And it would've mushroomed like an A-Bomb. "You hear Miss Moss clipped Crowther round the ear", "You hear Miss Moss punched Crowther in the face", "You hear Miss Moss shot Crowther in the f**king head and raped his family". You repeat a lie enough in a place like Gee and it soon becomes fact. But we weren't surprised when we heard another story about Stevens hitting a kid. It didn't stop us playing football. And we didn't have to embellish the tales to make them more interesting because Stevens kept writing the material for us – tripping kids up, making kids cry, locking kids in the cupboard – we even heard one story about him breaking the arm of some Year 11.

Any other school and there would be f**king uproar. But if you're the worst school in the worst city for education there's no-way they're going to believe a group of marauding kids over a highly respected lab assistant. And, to be fair to Stevens, we didn't exactly give him an easy ride. But he was asking for it after what he did to Crowther. I.T lessons became an absolute farce. Nothing productive got done – at least nothing productive according to the criteria of the National Curriculum. We saw taunting Stevens as productive, might not get us a GCSE but at least it's a f**king laugh. Most of the kids in there wouldn't get GCSEs anyway. So Culverwell would do the register, set some work and then f**k off for a cigarette leaving Stevens alone with the class. And then the insults would start – a massive onslaught more intense than the Allied bombardment of Dresden. "Oi Stevens, why couldn't you get a proper f**king job?" "Stevens, I saw you jerking off over Miss Moss in your cupboard you f**king nonce" "Stevens, you want me to be your bitch so you can cum inside something other than your own f**king fist, you hairy little c**t". And Stevens would get angrier and angrier before lashing out at a couple of kids. And so would end the lesson for another week.

There was no way you could challenge Stevens on his own level. You couldn't turn round and smack him because there's only one person who's going to get in shit for that and it's not Stevens. If you get expelled from Gee there's nowhere else to go. All the degenerates from other schools were sent here so if you f**ked up at Gee you've had your last chance. Twoking, robbing and taking drugs goes from being a part-time hobby to a full-time vocation. And so Stevens always had the upper hand. Sure, everyone thought they were undermining him with their snide gibes but he would always have his fists to resort to. He had the power and he knew it. It was all he had, but it was what separated him from us. But one day that all changed.

It was Thursday morning and, as usual, we were sat in the computer room. I was sat next to the new kid, Adam Colchester. He was a nice enough lad. He'd only been at Gee a couple of weeks. His parents had moved from Manchester or something, I don't remember. He was a quiet lad and pretty clever. But because he was big and could handle himself he didn't get any trouble. As Culverwell left, the room erupted into a cacophony of insults directed at Stevens. I was trying to keep out of it because I didn't feel like any shit that day but Colchester piped up next to me. "Stevens you f**king wet pussy, the only time you've been f**ked is when your dad shoved his f**king cock into your mouth when you were a kid. Don't pretend you didn't want it. Don't tell me you don't want to f**k us all now you sweaty paedo." I couldn't believe it. I'd never heard Colchester swear never mind come out with that shit. The whole room fell silent. Stevens turned round and just looked at Colchester. His black eyes focused into small pin-pricks so you could hardly see them and his ears glowed red like a dying star ready to explode in a supernova.

"What did you say?" said Stevens.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr Stevens, can't you hear me? I said you're a f**king wet pussy and the only time you've been f**ked is when your dad shoved his cock into your mouth when you were a kid. I then went on to say that you wanted to f**k us all in here because you're a dirty sweaty paedophile," echoed Colchester calmly.

Stevens just stood there stunned. Colchester was new to the class and Stevens would've picked on him anyway at some point to prove his authority – or lack of. He effectively pissed on the class to mark out his territory.

"Did you hear me that time?" inquired Colchester, "I could write it down if you're having problems. I could put it in an email and send it to you if you want?"

Stevens' ears were blood red now and we could see them pulsating with anger. His lips pursed into two parallel thin lines as he marched over to Colchester. We didn't know what the hell was going to happen. No-one had gone this far before but we wouldn't be surprised by anything Stevens did. He positioned himself behind Colchester and placed one hand on his shoulder. Slowly he began to squeeze Colchester's neck. Colchester flinched at first but then just stared into his computer screen. Stevens squeezed harder and harder as the blood drained from his ears into his clenched fingers round Colchester's now shriveled neck. Colchester remained perfectly still, his back completely straight.

"Is this your idea of foreplay Stevens, because it's not really working," he said.

Stevens was getting more and more agitated. The whole room was focused on what was happening – each kid staring on in awe. They all sensed what was happening. They knew this could either make or break Stevens. It was a war of attrition and we were watching the stalemate on the Western front. Stevens squeezed harder and harder, a long vein throbbing along his right arm, as he lifted his left and began squeezing the other side of Colchester's neck. F**k it, Colchester must have been in so much pain, but he was taking one for the team. I was sat right next to him and, even though he was calm on the outside, I knew he was burning up on the inside. I wanted to stand up and smack Stevens in the face to stop him but I knew that'd mess things up. That would undo Colchester's hard work. So I just sat there, in amazement, like the rest of the class. Soon Colchester would begin his creeping barrage.

Stevens continued squeezing and mauling Colchester's neck. His whole body was red. There were veins protruding everywhere. He looked as though he was about to explode or have a heart attack. But Colchester remained calm as he carefully lifted up his right arm and looked at his watch.

"You better hurry up because the lesson's nearly over. I hope you've got a good finish."

As these words left Colchester's lips, Stevens' grip relaxed and his arms slumped to his sides. He was a defeated man and the blood drained from his body. His ears were as white as snow and his eyes were sunken deep into his head. Suddenly he appeared like a fragile old man.

"Cheers for that, I needed a massage," chirped Colchester.

The class stared on wearing blank faces. I could see the red outline of Stevens' fingers on Colchester's neck but he was confident and assured. He had won. We had won.

We never had any trouble from Stevens again. And Colchester never did anything of note again. No-one said anything to him about it but we respected him for what he had done. He had defeated Stevens on the only level he operated. He was a broken man. And because of that Stevens never got any trouble from us again. He wasn't a challenge, he wasn't interesting, he was the lowest of the low. Equilibrium had been restored.

Too long? Or too shit?

As a fellow thread killer, I feel compelled to respond by saying I'm a wee bit tipsy and it feels like a misson and a half getting through this.
It may well be brilliant, however tonight mate it just aint gonna happen.

Will look at it tomorrow....Probably.

Hi Comrade. Firstly, I think it's difficult to comment on the piece with it being out of context. I thought it read more like a diary entry than a story, put as part of a collection of pieces, it may make more sense. I felt that you could get rid of some of the swearing without loosing anything. In some instances, the word 'f**king' seemed to slow down the pace of the narative you were building.

I'm not sure who your target audience is but, for me, references to GCSE's were a bit clumsy and alienated me to a certain extent, but I'm 42 so maybe you're not aiming it at me.

Having said all that, I did read it through to the end and thought there was some good prose and some interesting images and descriptions.

I think I'd say I didn't really like the piece, didn't really dislike it either, just not for me, but I did enjoy your writing style. And definately not shit, as you suggested in your second post.

Thanks very much for the feedback. I guess I didn't really write it for anyone else but myself - someone who's 'graduated' from secondary school in the last 10 years. So I guess the target audience would be from school age til about thirty.

I think you're definitely right about context. My idea was to have a collection of short stories set in a rough all-boys inner-city comprehensive told from the perspective of a single narrator. The stories would follow said narrator and his classmates through the school til graduation. I think it reads like a diary entry because that's, effectively, what it is. I have so many funny and terrifying anecdotes from school that I was just trying to find the best medium to do it.

I'm glad that you read it all and really appreciate the feedback. The swearing is a tough one. I read it after reading Ham and Rye so swearing and gritty dialogue was very much in my mind. I wanted it to be realistic but, at the same time, I don't want to alienate people. I'd be interested to know what others think of the swearing? Does it sound like a group of teenage boys or is it too much?

Sorry but that wasn't funny, I mean alot of school yard rudery and shock statements.

But it's all starters and no main course.

It's long and it doesn't seem to go any where.

I think you need to look at plotting and gag writing.

Also is Colchester a professional wrestler or something?

Quote: sootyj @ October 21 2008, 10:50 AM BST

Sorry but that wasn't funny, I mean alot of school yard rudery and shock statements.

But it's all starters and no main course.

It's long and it doesn't seem to go any where.

Thanks very much for taking the time to read it sootyj and giving me the feedback. It's not that long for a short story and I guess it's better described as an 'anecdote' or an 'incident'. As I said earlier, it was intended as one of many short stories which, as a whole, chart the growth of a number of boys through school to adulthood. Each story would be an incident throwing some light on circumstance or character trait with the collection itself 'the main course'. This story is a 'starter' and I'm glad you appreciated it as such.

Quote: sootyj @ October 21 2008, 10:50 AM BST

I think you need to look at plotting and gag writing.

Certainly it could do with more work. But it wasn't intended as a comic story. It was intended as a gritty anecdote as part of a larger collection. If I had 'gags' in there it would totally undermine the realism of the piece. I wanted the absurdity of the situation and the imagery to be comic - much more subtle and skilful than an overt gag. But if you don't think it worked then I appreciate your input. Maybe you could say why you don't think it worked? Did it feel unrealistic? Or how could I improve it? More focus or stronger characters?

Quote: sootyj @ October 21 2008, 10:50 AM BST

Also is Colchester a professional wrestler or something?

No, just someone who can stand up to a pathetic bully. If you went to a school like the one described above you'll know someone who was hard enough to stand up to a teacher.

Well if you write it for British Trainspotters Guide, my response would be not enough trains. It maybe a good idea to flag up if it's not a comic piece.

The Colchester remark was that he seemed impervious to being strangled.

I dunno it didn't grab my attention, horrible lab assisstant who's bullied by class strangles some one unsuccesfully?

Might I reccomend www.playgorundlaw.com as an interesting site that does similar stuff.

Also gags are not knock, knock who's there? It's more when you strucutre your material in a way designed to amuse.

Ok I might have lead a sheltered life but at 11 years old this seems pretty unrealistic. I was playing football and Star wars,not having those thoughts about teachers in that language.
14/15 yes 15/16 oh yes!
So the swearing and standing up to teachers seemed 3/4 years out of place (but maybe that's just me).
I thought is was a well written, descriptive piece with potential.

Hope that helps

In fairness I agree you've got a good style, but you don't seem to take it places.

The evil lab assisstant is a good idea, but he needs to be more vile/horrible for it to convince.

A pathetic person brought low lacks tension.

Thanks again for the feedback guys. It's very helpful. I think you're right, Daddy Maz, that it's maybe too unrealistic for Year Seven - because through my experience they're weak and timid at that stage because secondary school is a new environment. But I think, by Year 8, it wouldn't be out of place. Obviously, most of the language and references are beyond the scope of an 11-year old but I think it needs a certainly degree of articulation to be understood.

Thanks for the website sootyj and, at the start of my original post, I did actually say it wasn't explicitly comedy. And the purpose of the story was do illustrate the 'law of the playground' and how it permeates adulthood as well as school life. As soon as you've been put in your place, breaking you isn't a challenge anymore.

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