h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Walking through my secluded council estate the morning is fresh. Another night, another escape for the youth of the dreamy secluded estate. My estate is still a council estate yet the houses are owned by everyone now. But we are no better off only further in debt by a government that would rather have us paying then being given charity. But the I love it, we love it, our purchase gives us our only freedom. So we buy Sky with our credit cards that writes out pre-written cheques for cash when you send off for a new cheque books. Ya know it's like they don't increase the tax on alcohol, but they rinse you on what on the essentials of the dwindling estate heads, cigarettes. They give you an inch...comes to my mind. Still we persist with our bright cars and bright phones we can't afford being waved in our faces with a credit agreement as the inevitable side-dish.
The estate that scrapped and pulled together no longer needs to with a bit of plastic and supersonic entertainment system. The money isn't under the bed anymore, its in direct debits that we can't afford. The middle is dragging us up, but we are not kicking and screaming. We are happy with our morsel of a very big pie. The community spirit of a group that knew had no power, shined as pure as the sun in these two-tone houses. With our bit of plastic we are ready to hope on the boat to private wasteland guarded by filthy rottweilers. Once you desire what you don't need, there is no going back. You consume, your gone. The community estate is dead, we work, we live no longer for the joy of freedom in our nights and beatitude in forced excess. But we stop smoking, we take that mortgage on, we'll take anything as long as we don't have to pay for it now. We're never not gonna take that on, because there is only tomorrow for people like you or me, not the end of the month. As I sit on a bench that overlooks the meandering rows of yellow brick, badly tiled terraced houses the sun flickers gently. The empathy of close living, shared patches of grass that we all learnt our football on and then shared our first smoke. The sun shines bright on this June morning, not a cloud in the sky. I'm alright for tomorrow, I've got 75 pound monthly payment for my cards, that we'll keep me under the domino spirals of credit charges. I've got 5 pound for fags..and I've got 20 pound for weed. To forget about the fact we are working for them. Still, chin up,I wanna share, I don't want your sky, 3- toke pass I say.
I have work in 3 hours. It will be ok, tomorrow is only another day. I will run around all day for 4 pound an hour while the owner takes 500-fold that in his bank. The young, the powerless generation don't want these inequalities that you have stretched since the war. We want a voice. When I cry, I try jobs sites, desperate of a break so I don't have to go to work tomorrow. The first jobs that come up are writing for a mortgage journal of failing justifications for putting the shoe on our necks even tighter. The irony fills me with a wry, angry grit to succeed. We want to be heard, we want to share , rejoice in the fact that we are kicking and screaming, only Blair won't let us. A better life isn't a phone upgrade. A voice for those who can't afford what your offering us. Your freedom is at too high a price. We don't want to hide until we are old enough to be respected. We want a voice. Today. I stand up from the hill that overlooks the glistening sun swept estate. In my beatitude there is the twinkle of perseverance. I run home so I can write this.

Why is this story in the Message section?

I've skimmed through both your stories, but it's rather late so I'll have to get back to you. Your last one is a little confusing, and tenses are mixed.

Interesting, contemporary and gritty feel to them. Can't say I'll understand - different age, experiences, lifestyle probably. But it doesn't mean I can't provide a critique.

Keep up the good work.
Birbeck must

thankyou for your feedback it is unbelievably helpful to me as a young writer that anyone and eveyrone could find what im writing interesting. that is precisely the point of these gritty ramblings. if uyou have the time could you please give me some thoughts on my newest story, flippin picadilly blues. i would appreciate your thoughts greatly. thankyou birbeck. bye.

I've read the other reviews, a bit harsh, but you appear tough-skinned.

Anyway, it's my go. I like the mood of the piece.

'...houses owned by everyone now.' I think you could have stressed that they are probably 1st-generation owners, and explain whether it had changed them/the look of the estate.

'secluded' is the correct word, yet it doesn't illustrate an estate probably on the outskirt that is excluded from a world that residents don't participate in - due to u/empl, unreliable/exp. public transport, etc. Seclusion is usually a chose, such as a 'private' estate (island!) away from the riff-raff.

Your observations are brilliant (morality tale?). So cutting! Such condemnation! Brilliant phrases:

*****
'No better off...'
'...inevitable side-dish'
'The money isn't under the bed...'
'Once you desire what you don't need, there's...'
'...as long as we don't have to pay for it now'
'A better life isn't a phone upgrade' - the best!
*****
'scraped' or is it really meant to be scrapped?

I got lost here '...alcohol, but they rinse you on'?

What do you mean by 'the middle is dragging us up'?

No sure about wording, something to do with tenses maybe?: 'The community spirit of a group that knew (they?) had no power...'

'hope on boat' (hop?)

Explain (in old English, please):
'...your sky, 3-toke pass I say'?

'The first jobs that come...' you need to punctuate some places?

Watch the 'your' (you're) - it's easily done.
*****
Like the use of 'beautitude' - provides a sense of optimism/contentment, or is it irony?

Someone said it lacked warmth, but I didn't expect any, not that people don't look out for each other on these estates.

Well, that's it for now.
Birbeck