You tried to fight your way out

There was no way you were going to take this lying down. Except of course that you were literally lying down on the cold floor with these fuckers mugging you. Summoning all of your strength you tried to flail your arms and legs, connecting at least with the guy holding the knife.

All this achieved, though, was to piss him off.

‘I will cut your fucking throat if you don’t stop that,’ he hissed, pressing the knife against your skin. The blade felt cold, the edge keen. Although your body and limbs were still tense, you stopped trying to fight.

You felt a sharp pain in your left side and cried out, causing one of the guys holding you down to place a hand over your mouth while your pockets were searched. Your hips were turned to the side and you felt a hand remove your wallet from your jeans.

‘Is this it?’ A face in front of yours, menacing. ‘Is this all the cash you’ve got?’

You mumbled into the hand over your mouth.

The man with your wallet took out his phone, the screen bathing his face in a pale blue light. ‘Okay, Sam Smith, I’ve got your driving license here, with your address. I want the PIN numbers for all your cards.’

You had actually never been mugged before, and your mind was racing. Trying to weigh up your options. Trying to work out which options were more or less likely to result in you getting stabbed. Of course you didn’t want to give these guys the numbers for your bank cards, but it seemed to be the only option you had right now. You nodded, looking at the guy with the phone, and the hand slipped away from your mouth.

‘Look,’ you began, not really sure what you were about to say, ‘they have cameras at the cashpoints. If you try to use my cards they’ll pick you up in no time.’

The phone guy peers down at you, waving your driving license. ‘Well then we’ll come round your house. Numbers, now.’ You felt the knife press harder against your throat, emphasising the word ‘now.’

‘Why don’t I go to the cashpoint? You can come with me.’

‘Why don’t you just shut the fuck up and tell me the numbers?’

‘You want me to shut up and tell you the numbers?’ Sometimes your brain didn’t really help.

‘Are you trying to be funny, cunt?’

‘No! No, I’m trying to help.’

‘Fuck this. Cut him.’

The guy with the phone turned away and for a second the knife was no longer in contact with your skin. The man with the knife spoke to the two holding you. ‘Hang on, I want his coat. And his trainers.’

There was a murmured agreement before you found yourself flipped over and your jacket was stripped from you, then your legs were pulled straight as your boots were unlaced and yanked off. With arms under yours the attackers dragged you, cold and scared shitless, back toward the park.