It was the way he sat there that caught my eye; captivating me. Like watching a shooting star burn out, he leaned his back across the metal seat in the train station. Most would say his red rimmed eyes were the effects of drugs or alcohol, but I saw them for what they really were: red rimmed eyes of anguish.
His hair was a mess, but it looked tidy compared to the rest of the boys body. Savage is the only word I can think to associate to him to. He didn't look friendly, so I took my time when making an approach.
His left leg hung off the bench as the right one was bent to fit, his left arm hung loosely to the floor as his right one was awkwardly resting across his forehead. He stared at the ceiling with such concentration that I knew he was sober and somber.
Every part of me screamed to ask him all the right questions to get inside his mind. He intrigued me in a way words cannot fathom. And just when I was about to make my move; to open my mouth and force the words I'd been dying to say to the boy since I first spotted him residing there, his jaw clenched and his open palms disappeared into white fisted knuckles. He could sense my presence, and that made his sadness flip to defense.
I should have walked away; let him intimidate me and move on like everyone else. But I wouldn't. I couldn't, because the second his eyes connected with mine I knew why he was so familiar - his name was Donny Rider. And the reason why no one else stopped to ask the boy what was wrong is because they couldn't see him. Only I could. Only the person who had pushed him so far he skipped to the end.
