by Lee Oz

Created on: March 24, 2009

The Boy in the Black Leather Jacket was just standing there, staring intently into my eyes, from the other side of the road. Although his gaze was fixed upon mine, there was still a look of despair behind his menacing front, as if it wasn't him that was gazing deep into me, but more something within him trying to escape into me. The feeling it left within me drifted throughout my mind all day, as it did most days i saw him on my way to work.

There were just so many questions i needed to answer about his presence, purpose and, most of all, why his glare chilled me to my spine, yet drew me to him, to help him, although i did not know with what.

It wasn't everyday i would see him, neither was it a consistent routine. his appearance seem to be totally random, and it seemed so influential on me; i will recall days by his presence, for example if something happened i would simply remember it as '2 days after i saw him', instead of calling it a Tuesday.

He was always on the same corner, where Oldfield Road turned onto Stoke Way. Always slumped against the tall red brick wall, which would simply enhance his appearance. He wasn't particularly tall, but his slim build made it appear he was. he would always wear the same old, tattered black jeans, a pair of white canvas boots, a plain grey t-shirt under the large black leather jacket, which had a few old steel studs on the shoulders. His skin was pale and he constantly looked ill, his long, straight hair appeared greasy and rested down upon his shoulders, with a perfect middle parting emphasizing his large green eyes piercing through from his grey, emotionless face. He looked as though he was lack of all colour, and burnt out from the fresh red bricks of the wall he would prop himself against.

His hollow stare would haunt me for days, and just when it had finally vacated my conscious, he would appear again, staring at me, his eyes making a silent cry for help.

It had been 17 days since i last saw him, which was longest he had ever gone without appearing on the corner. To say i was worried would have been wrong, as i constantly reminded myself i didn't even know who he was. there was no reason for me to feel worried about someone who consistently made me feel uneasy, unsure and bemused. but without him, part of my routine was lost.

It reached a full 23 days with not one sighting of the boy, and i kept reminding myself of his stare, and how convinced i was that he was a victim, looking for someone to help him, someone to save him, but most of all, someone to make him feel better. i began to feel guilty for not ever talking to him before, simply asking if he was OK, or simply saying "Good Morning".

Finally, on the 29th day without a sighting he appeared. This was my chance, i was going to speak to him, just a imple 'Are you OK?' would be enough, maybe from seeing me all the time he would feel as though i wanted to help or assist. He obviously needed helping, the look in his eyes was a fire of pain and abuse. I suddenly broke my direction of walking and headed across the road to speak to him, when all i could suddenly hear was a loud horn.

I awoke in the middle of the road, pain constricting me to the most minimal of movements. i glanced up, my vision seemed blurred, but all i could see was the front of a large Van, i could hear voices and realised there was a crowd formed around me, there voices seemed muffled and far away. I struggled and dropped my head to the left and looked for the boy, all i could see was a tall red brick wall, with a picture of a teenage boy, with long hair and a black leather jacket painted on it by vandals. i had never noticed that painting before.

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