I sit alone at the desk with the teacher watching me closely from the front, a piece of paper placed in front of me. I can’t wait to get out of here but at the same time, I don’t want to go home either. I’ve seen more graffiti around the city in Upper, all over the tube stations and underpasses. The government are still trying to blame in on a group of teenagers who were apparently released after a few hours. I don’t believe that. Each time I think of the graffiti, I see the man with the lopsided grin and the baggy jacket. I know he did at least some of it.
It gets dark early in the city. As I walk to the station I manage to take a wrong turn in the underpasses and end up on passage I’ve never been down before. I see a man standing with his back to me and I can hear the hiss of a spray paint can colouring the wall with a message. “Hello?” I shout. He turns and look at me before finishing the words with a smirk. The thudding sound of his boots against the concrete fills the air as he starts to run. I follow, my rucksack bouncing on my back. The pain across my chest gets worse as I run, the sharp wounds wrapping themselves around me. I know it's going to hurt even more tomorrow morning. My heart beat quickens as I chase after him; follow the pattern o the increasing frequency of my steps. My breath wheezes in and out of my body as I desperately pummel my feet against the ground to try to keep up. He moves quickly. Quicker than I can and as he sprints up the stairs out onto the street I lose my footing and then I’ve lost him.
I force myself to retreat down the steps and find my way back home. I get back at about midnight and find my Mum and Dad waiting for me around the table looking disappointed, looking angry. It’s a look I know far too well.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dad shouts, rising from his chair, it scrapes against the floor. I’ve always hated the sound.
“I had detention.”
“At midnight?” He shouts again.
“Well, no, obviously not because if it was at midnight, I wouldn’t be back by now would I?” I say this with a strange strength that I am not usually able to muster in these situations.
“Tell me where you’ve been or I’ll throw that stupid book away, that one you’ve been hiding in your room.” He lowers his voice and somehow, this makes it so much worse.
“You know about-”I start to say before he cuts me off with his familiar cruel tone,
“Of course I know about that stupid book, it's full of lies.” He sidesteps around the table and stands in front of me, only a few centimetres taller than me now. I'm not the same small child that I once was.
“Elliot,” Mum says, she sounds desperate. I think she knows what is about to happen.
“I’m not a little kid anymore Dad, you can’t tell me what to do.” I roll my left shoulder back, it clicks. “and if you go through with what you're thinking of doing you'll prove there more to power than knowledge. You'll prove that force gets you what you want.” I take a step back and his hand stops shaking. “I’m going to bed, good night. Love you lots Dad.” I say with so much spite that it seems to poison the air in the room. With my eyes tightly shut I lie down on my cold bed. This world is changing, people are changing and I think I might be one of them.
I find it hard to fall asleep most nights, I just don’t feel right here anymore. I need to find a way out of this place. I’ve spent my whole life accepting that this is how it has to be but now I know that there are people out there who don’t think like that; people who are revolutionising the way we live and I want to be among their ranks. The graffiti today proved that.
I wake up in the morning and I feel just as tired as I did last night, the lack of sleep clouding my vision with its thick fog. I follow my ordinary routine of getting ready and taking the train to school. However, today, before I leave, I tell my Mum that I’m going to the library after school today to study. They would never protest to me studying, after all, knowledge is everything here. I pack the map of the city I had stuffed into my draw years ago, into my bag.
