Jason

Jason, a boy who lived the earth for 13 years, wastn sure what to think of the desk he was facing. He was now a criminal. He saw blood trickling though a wound and he doesn’t move to do anything helpful until there’s no sign of breathing. His fearful negligence, or irresponsibility would cause him to serve time, and if his youth doesn’t serve its purpose, maybe forever. He would be behind jail until his last breath. A man without family and life for years since that unlikely incident.

He doesn’t know anything about the constitution, and his family doesn’t even know anyone who could help them out. His parents would be home before four, it’s one in the evening, and they would be dumbfounded once he told what happen. And yes, of course there is the witness. His mistake was to run away after he and the body was spotted. His first attempt to help didn’t work, and he backed out only with blood in his hands, until an old woman came, staring at him as if it was her son’s body.

He ran. Panting, he threw curses in the air, vainly speaking of names, Unaware of the woman who was left behind who decided to go to the nearest precinct and tell everything she saw. A murder was done by a juvenile, something that had been usual since the onset of Martial Law. In their place, it’s almost a daily routine of delinquents who does nothing but plant sticks inside people with imaginary attitudes. The woman was someone who doesn’t believe with change. That boy was a juvenile murderer, like everybody else.

Jason, upon telling his parents, doesn’t dare to look on their eyes. The worse thing went through, hours later, when Jason was slightly relieved by crying everything out. There was knocking on the door, and his parents opened it casually as if they were expecting a visitor. The door made both of rotting plywood and tin roof nailed together swung hesitantly and revealed two uniformed man, asking for a boy named their son. A woman appeared behind them, rushed inside the house, passing between Jason’s parents.
She lowered her head and walked though the kitchen, push through tiny compartments until saying ,” There he is. It’s the boy!”
Jason panicked. The woman appeared out of nowhere. He ran, hitting the woman by the hand, and attempted to kick a weak portion of the wall. He was to escape, but the uniformed men were as fast as cats before a meal.
Jason were brought up by the hair, lifted like a rabbit, and dropped like a toad outside the dilapidated shelter, exposed before a curious crowd of bystanders. They were all looking at his battered body, slumped onto the dusty ground of humiliation, fear, and physical pain.
“Im no criminal,” he whispered, groping for his parents arms in the darkness he was in.