The boy drifted through the crowded, indifferent streets of the urban town, his white hair stark and unusual amongst the dim grays and browns of the city. His red eyes darted between the faces of passing strangers all too busy, too preoccupied to notice a homeless boy slipping through the shadows. He moved with silent grace, light of foot, his worn clothes hanging loose on his slight frame, mismatched and frayed from wear.
He had grown used to the cold of the nights, the relentless chill that pushed onto his skin as he lay on hard concrete or huddled under a bridge. The streets were always abuzz with the distant car horns, footsteps in haste, and sometimes the sounds of laughter touching his heart more with taunting than comfort. But amidst this sprawl, he was invisible, some ghost passing through unseen and untouched. He hated it
Hunger was always gnawing, gnawing, there. He'd learned to shelve his mind against the ache in his belly. Sometimes, he would just hang around the back doors of restaurants, waiting for that one moment when leftovers were being tossed out. Other times, he'd find himself in the dead ends of alleys, where the streetlight barely reached, his small figure silhouetted. In those quiet, obscure places, he could sit alone, shutting his eyes and thus forgetting, for a short moment only to be struck by the memories of his crime
He'd sit and watch the city lights at night, small pinpricks of brightness against the sprawl of concrete. He wondered about the people inside those warm, lit buildings, what it must feel like to belong somewhere, to have walls and windows and people waiting for you. But the thought only left a hollow ache, a reminder of what he'd lost had and likely never would regain.
And yet, despite the cruelty of his world, he felt no anger. Just a quiet, steady resignation, a feeling that he was part of the shadows of this city, unseen and unclaimed. Each day, he'd rise and walk these streets, his steps soft and measured as if he were just a passing whisper of something otherworldly, haunting a city that had long since forgotten him.
His peaceful status quo soon came to an end when the government released what they knew about the silent fleet origin's after succumbing to the pressure of the united governments and the media in general.
It was as if the town had been divided down the middle, since the government had publicized the white-haired, red-eyed boy's existence, with the fear and fascination held at bay. Quiet streets took on a buzzing tension, with each hushed conversation between neighbors, friends, and family focusing on the boy's freakish appearance and his rumored freakish abilities. Shop owners, who lived highly certain lives, stood behind their counters and watched clusters of townspeople huddle together, eyes wide with wonder or narrowed in unease. Some clutched newspapers or mobile phones; the grainy image of the boy's stark features pulled up for all to see, the pale skin and unblinking red eyes hauntingly surreal to the people even though they knew it was just an illustration.
Parents herded their children inside at dusk, whispering about the boy as if he were some sort of specter that materialized in the night. They locked their doors sooner, clamped their windows shut as though to keep something insubstantial out. To the elderly, the boy's unsettling features stirred superstitious fears long buried, rumors of ancient tales of spirits who walked in human skin-pale creatures who carry dark secrets in their blood.
But for others, particularly young ones, the figure of the boy stirred curiosity and even admiration. Many wondered whether he was real or some more myth-like creature cobbled together out-of-state secrets and rumors. Some even snuck out at night through alleys to stroll around the outskirts of town in hopes of catching his glimpse.
As days passed, rumors intensified: tales spread of strange sightings, shadows glimpsed just out of view, or a pair of red eyes catching moonlight from some distant rooftop. In time, the sightings became part of the town's folklore, the boy a kind of urban legend-feared by some, idolized by others, yet understood by none. The revelation that came about from the government's announcement had shifted everything; it gave the townspeople a mystery of their own a figure who, one way or another, touched every soul in that quiet town.
William whose appearance bore an uncanny resemblance to the illustration after all it was him, suffered under the people who took out their sense of justice on the boy not caring if it was him or not. He was thrashed whenever people's whims dictated it but he didn't try to fight back it was some sort of punishment for what he had done at least that was how he viewed it all.
After all he was nothing but a lost child in the city.