A piercing scream that no one would hear cut through the silence of the night. The nearest wall of the alleyway was painted with a new layer of graffiti; copious amounts of thick, red liquid covered up the white profanities sprayed on smoke-blackened brick. The deepening crimson dripped sickeningly toward its former owner, who was now stirring feebly. Deadened, frightened eyes showed the world what it had done with its future, and yet no one would see. The few who did witness the act would dissolve into the shadows, mere echoes of where they had been and who they had killed, and live to ruin yet another life and ultimately end it.
It was an ironically peaceful night, filled only with the sounds of harsh breathing growing slower by the second and rough voices discussing matters no self-respecting man would ever wish to hear. Footsteps faded into the distance and now the figure on the concrete was alone, doing his best to keep his insides where they were supposed to be. The sparse amount of stars was reflected in a nearby puddle and the figure clawed his way toward it. Shaking fingers dipped into the water and rubbed the liquid over cracked and bleeding lips in an attempt at comfort. The figure shuddered, wishing the pain-filled breathing he heard would stop. It didn’t occur to him that the sound was the only testament to the fact that he was still alive.
“H-help...” The word, almost a sob, so different than the previous voices, replaced the breathing. “S-someone help me...”
No one would hear, just as no one heard his screaming, and likely no one cared. Why would anyone care about him, lying in an alleyway covered in blood? Again, the world revealed its cruel underside as the figure rolled onto his back and stared at the crescent moon, so beautiful, but so far away, just like so many other things. As always, he was admiring beauty from afar.
A wave of pain, a gasp of breath, a single tear, and fifteen-year-old Samuel Hatton grew still, the alleyway falling silent once more.