The boy waits for the cars to pass then makes his run across the road. He dives into the bushes on the roundabout and begins making his way up the mound, his hands clinging to clumps of dirt and roots. He finds a dry nook to sit down in and catches his breath while holding his head in his hands. The tall grasses that enclose him are drenched in orange light and thick black shadows. He listens to the passing whoosh of the cars on the road below, anticipating one of them to stop. In time their sound lures him to sleep.
He wakes before dawn. Rising his head above the grasses he can see the long stretch of black road speckled with the orange dots of the streetlights and the large bridge further down that crosses over. In the sky the ruffled clouds are parting to seed in a violent light. The boy thinks about his life and his pursuers. He looks at the serial number engraved on the flesh of his stomach. He hears the soft whir of the fine motors beneath his skin as he flexes his hand. Finally he stands and casts his eyes across the dark world he inhabits.
Paddy Dobson
11th May 2021