On a Friday afternoon, a boy sits on the fence that borders the school. He wears a worn black t-shirt and a small scar across his cheekbone. As the other students depart from the school, eager to get home, they stop and turn to the boy. He is telling a story. Many students gather around him, listening. Something about his calming voice pulls them in. They find it difficult to leave. When the story ends, some students applaud. Some ask questions. The boy promises to come back after the weekend and tell another story.
…………………………………………………………….
The final bell rings at 3:00. You slowly rise from your chair and follow the bustling crowd of students out of the brightly lit science classroom. As you set foot onto the blacktop, the September sky is gray, and though you scan the skies in search of light, none can be found. All that you observe is a hawk soaring through the air, scouring the ground for prey, and though it may not realize it, the hawk is free from the binds and vices of being human. It’s only worry in life is finding its next meal. They have it easy, you think at the hawk, almost as if you are angry at it. Soon, you near the fence where, even a year later, the boy still sits to tell stories. Today, you sit and listen, closing your eyes to better imagine the story.

The boy speaks of a warrior who must leave his home to fight in a war. You can picture the warrior, with shining armor and a long, silver sword at his waist in a leather sheath. His eyes shine with riveting fury. But he has no reason to kill innocent people. He has no stakes in this war. As the boy continues, it seems as if he is talking to you alone. But you know that he is not. He is talking to many people, that he probably doesn’t even know your name. But you still dream, picturing the warrior throughout his adventures, his hardships, his joys. He ventures to far-off lands, and sails across vast, raging seas. Through all his struggles, however, he still prevails and perseveres. When the warrior returns after years of victorious fighting, he finds his village burnt to a crisp. His family is nowhere to be found. As he sits on the scraps of what was once his home, contemplating his life, he realizes that the war had not only ravaged the enemy, but had ravaged all in its path.

When the story ends, the students slowly scatter from the blacktop as the boy hops off the fence. You stay, however, cross-legged on the cracked asphalt with your eyes shut, and grasp at the story as it slips away. When you emerge from your haze, you glance around to find the boy exiting the nearly deserted schoolyard. You don’t know what compels you to follow him, but you stand up straight and grab your backpack as the boy disappears behind a nearby house.

You sprint after the boy until you find him a hundred or so feet ahead of you. You stay at this distance so that you can see him but he cannot see you. Luckily, he doesn’t look behind him. As you follow, You spy a large, dull city in the distance. It looms over the suburbs encompassing it, as if it is trapping them. The closer you get, it seems as if the world gets grayer and dimmer . The cement sidewalk you are walking on is sloped downward, towards the river. It’s not a nice river, though. It’s colored an unpleasant brown and plastics, fishing line, and tennis balls can always be found on its banks. Your parents have never taken you to the river, but you have driven past it and have seen how the homeless congregate near it, around large bonfires that smell of rubber tires and despair. You ponder this as you walk, but the houses quickly decrease in size and value, and you are required to take notice of it. Where you live, on the hill, the houses are colored brightly, the lawns green, and you rarely wonder about the world outside of your bubble. But now you are forced to.

You barely notice as you reach a trailer park on the outskirts of town. A barbed wire fence borders dozens of rusty trailers and RVs. You watch the boy force open a metal fence gate and enter a small Winnebago trailer surrounded by a ring of cigarette butts and broken bottles. You hide behind it, ear pressed against the rusty wall.

From inside, you hear a man’s slurred voice, muffled by the rusty trailer walls.
“Where were you?”
“At school” The boy responds.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did. You just forgot.”
“Don’t tell me you were at school. You were probably out… Out… Drinking or something.”
“You’re one to talk.”

A deafening silence invades the trailer park. The birds cease their singing and hold their breath. Time seems to stop as you listen for something, anything. But all that comes next is a boy. A small, frightened boy running away with two scars across his cheek.

The next day, the final bell rings at 3:00. Though the sun shines bright upon the busy, smiling students, you do not share their joy. You force yourself to talk and laugh with your friends, who are oblivious, or at least choose to ignore the injustices that are being committed as they speak. Today, the boy is not sitting on the fence. Your friends suggest he may be sick, or at an appointment of some sort. You nod. Turning your head towards the sky, you spot a majestic hawk floating atop the air above you. But then, the hawk dives, perching on the fence. You smile. The boy may not be here, and he will likely never return. But you know that he is safe now. That he is free.