By now it was already 5pm, early evening, and the boy was passing through the murmuring crowd, aware of his surroundings. These people could be anyone – a terrorist, a drug dealer, a murderer or a thief. Or maybe...they were ordinary people, living ordinary lives, doing what ordinary people do – killing ones like him.

"Ugh! Not again." One frustrated person shouted as the sky began to drop bullets of tears down on the half grey world. The young boy, of course, didn't care much for he had gotten used to the comforting wetness that the clouds delivered. Just as he had expected, the rain turned into ice – not soft ones but heavy, hard and large chunks that made the cars' hibernating horns blare into life.

As the boy's head had been lowered to the floor he gazed up to find he was at his destination. The Park. Specifically, the meadow that was held captive within. This was going to change his life: waking up in the morning and tidying up his stuff, hiding his belongings in a suitable place, looking for food to keep him full for the day then going on his 10 miles walk which would result in him returning in time before darkness fell onto the world.

His 10-mile walks always ended up with his tears welling up in his far away eyes, making them glisten ever so brightly at the ever-lasting moon. Meeting up at the same place he witnessed that one street, where he used to roam about hunting for loose change. This made his mind rummage for the memories that were connected to this place, his home.