Locke is a boy mentally disturbed by something even he doesn't know. As he tries to fit into a new school, and figure himself out, he slowly falls deeper into a dark place that he's finding it harder and harder to get out of. Bad event follows bad event, Locke is hardly managing himself, let alone the bullies at school. Can Locke piece his life back together before he falls so deep that he's trapped in his own mind?


3. Caught


The road seems flat and straight. I walk along the edge of the road, my boots squelching in the mud and moss. Before I ducked under the barrier, I saw a sign that said ‘trespassers will be prosecuted.’ Being prosecuted is the last thing I need right now, but I didn’t want to go back into town to see people. I look up at the sky; dreary and overcast. It had been raining ever since I had arrived in Yorkshire. A cold breeze picks up and cuts through my jacket. I hug it to my body, trying to stay warm. Watery mud has seeped through my boots and is making my feet horribly cold and painful. The ground begins to slope slowly downwards, the road twisting away into the trees. The breeze picks up, turning into a strong wind. My jacket is useless against it. I put my head down and keep walking, wondering where the hell this road is going to.

After what feels like hours, the scenery changes. The trees start to get thicker, and the road is getting more and more worn out; full of pot holes. I catch a glimpse of the sky through the thick trees; the clouds are thick and fluffy grey. Snow clouds. I groan inwardly and hug my jacket tighter. The last thing I need right now is to be stuck outside in a snow storm in a pair of jeans and a thin jacket. My boots are soaked through with muddy water and covered in moss. I wonder why I do this to myself. Why I get so mad and storm away without thinking. I guess I just want things to go my way, and I don’t want people forcing me to do what I don’t want to. I do feel ashamed, all the time, yes. But I can’t let it show. I’ve built up barriers and it would be pathetic to break them down because of one stupid old man. I’ll pay for my shame later. I have ways of expressing the pain inside.

I feel the first flake of snow hit my cheek. I wipe it away and think that I should really be getting back, if I don’t want to be stuck in a fully-fledged snow storm. I decide that I’ll walk for another half an hour, and then turn back if there’s nothing down the road.

Half an hour later, I’m still walking down the road. It’s snowing heavily now, but the thick trees are blocking most of it from coming down on me.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I pull it out. It’s from dad.

‘Are you coming home sometime today? Or am I going to have to find you?’ It reads.

‘Urg.’ I moan. I text back:

‘I’m thinking. Leave me alone. I’ll be back when I’m back.’

I send the message and turn my phone off. I chuck it in my backpack.

There’s clearly nothing at the end of this road, it seems to go on forever. I grudgingly turn around and walk back up the road, towards the school. I’ll come back down here whenever I need to think and to see what’s at the end of the road.

As I walk back, the daylight that was left fades fast under the cover of the thick trees. Soon, it is almost so dark I can’t see. My feet just follow the rough pavement of the road, taking me endlessly in one direction.

A few hours later I reach the barrier that I went under to get down the road. I pull my phone back out of my bag, and sink down onto the curb, exhausted. My phone won’t turn on; it’s too cold. Instead I roll up my sleeve and check the time on my watch.

It’s 8pm. I wipe the snow off the watch face and slip my sleeve back down. I lean back onto the snowy pavement and stare at the sky, tinted orange with the light pollution from the city. I close my eyes for a while and decide that I best be getting on home. Not because I particularly want to, but because I’m so cold I’m slowly losing feeling in every part of my body. I stand up and turn down the road leading into town. I follow the footpath for only around ten minutes until a car pulls up next to me. I glance over and notice it’s a cop car. I don’t need this. I break into a run, desperate to get away. I don’t want to be arrested.

The cop car follows me down the street. A cop leans out the window and yells at me to stop and they just want to ask me something. I refuse. I pick up the pace and stream down the road. The cop car stops and they get out of the car and run after me. Damn, they’re young, fit cops. I jump through bushes on the side the path and out into a park. I sprint through the park, dodging playground equipment. It’s really dark here, and the cops are right behind me, waiting for me to slow down or do something stupid like trip over. I leg it out of the park and up another road.  This road is quite busy, but there are no people on the path. After all, it is like nine at night. The police are gaining on me, and are reaching desperately out at my shirt. Suddenly, one of my shoes catches on the pavement and I go flying. I hit the ground and graze the side of my face. The police men were so close behind me; they trip on my sprawled body. I try desperately to untangle myself, but before I can stand up, there is a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. The cops hoist me to my feet, but I refuse to stand. It’s a trick I learned to piss cops off.

‘Yea, we got him.’ One of the coppers says into his walkie-talkie. ‘Along Albert Road, just outside Queens Park.’

The cops dig their hands under my arms, and hoist me up again. Again, I refuse to support myself.

‘Look kid, I know you’re trying to piss us off, but that’ll just get you into more trouble. Now, stand up or you won’t be able to stand.’ The blond cop growls at me. He walks away to talk properly on the walkie talkie.

I groan and get to my feet, my hands behind my back.

‘An innocent man doesn’t run.’ The brunette policeman says. ‘Why are you running? We were only going to ask why were out so late on a Monday night, or should I say Tuesday morning.’

‘What? Dude, it’s like 9pm.’ I snap at him.

‘No, dude,’ he says back. ‘It’s gone 3am.’

I go to check my watch again, but I can’t because my hands are still cuffed behind my back.

‘So why were you running?’ Brunette questions again, exasperated.

‘Because,’ I snarl, ‘I don’t need to be arrested again. I’ve been arrested too many times in the last few months.’

‘For what?’ Brunette asks.

‘I dunno.’ I sigh. ‘Underage drinking, having illegal drugs, stealing, vandalism.’

Blondie walks back to us and looks down the street at the oncoming cop car.

The car drives up beside us and he puts his hand on my head and shoves me in the back.

‘You’ll be questioned at the station and if you tell us what you were doing, then we may consider not arresting you.’

‘You’ve already arrested me.’ I mumble.

‘You know what I mean. Now shut up until we get to the station.’ Blondie sneers.

Brunette gives me a reproachful glance, as if to say, ‘sorry ‘bout him.’ I don’t really care so I ignore him and stare out the window at the passing scenery.

Blondie pushes me into the station, holding onto the handcuffs. Brunette is next to me, making sure I don’t trip over.

I get taken into an empty holding cell, and Blondie leaves, locking the grates behind him.

‘Who can I call to pick you up?’ Blondie asks.

‘Fuck off.’ I snap at him.

‘I’m going to look up your profile and find out anyway. Plus that’ll be going on your ever-growing list of offences for tonight.’

Both of the police men leave and I’m alone in my cell. 

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