He sat on the side of the road with his head in his hands. Sweat was dripping off of his cheeks, or were they tears? He wore his red hat low and shoulders high and tense. His cut off shorts were worn with stains of paint, dirt and a slight smell of moth balls. His t-shirt, white, always white, was wrinkled and never perfectly white. His shoes were generally untied with the purple shoelaces dragging beneath his mid-sized feet. The sun struck down around him and tried to attack his stark white skin, but the oak tree branches above him shielded most of his exposed dirty skin. Occasionally a car would pass, but the boy didn't look up. There was no one that he wanted see.
He stared at the ground with such intent that you would think that it would answer him. He blinked only when his eyes forced shut and reopened to the stark concrete road beneath him. If you look closely at him you will see the scab on his right elbow, the dirt beneath his nails, the the red welt on his arm, the bruise on his shin and you don't have to look too close to see the swelling of black and blue eye socket. In fact, you didn't have to look too close to the red blood oozing off of his lip either. The blood had started to clot, but when he moved his mouth even slightly, the blood would start to trickle out of the cut ever so slowly.
Today isn't much different for him, except today he decided it was time to leave the booze ridden and scotch stinking apartment. Today he didn't want to spend another minute waiting to see what damage could be done to him. Today he decided that he could find a better way to spend his day. Today he ran away.
He sat on there on the side of the road for what must have been hours. He just starred. He didn't move. He just starred. When he finally stood up and stretched his overly cramped legs, he started walking. He walked. He walked until he arrived at the top of a hill where he used to ride his orange BMX bike. He walked until he was at the top of the ditch looking down where he once smiled. He starred. He starred for a long time. He reached slowly under his shirt and pulled out his fathers .45. He quickly drew it to his head. BANG. His body dropped limp into the ditch where he once smiled. His body perfectly still where he buried his last happy moment.
His father didn't know he was gone. He was gone for 13 hours. The radio reported a young boy's body found in the bike racing ditches five miles from his house and that the boy had killed himself. His father thought to himself, "That's a damn shame. Someone should have a taken care of that boy."