A fourteen-year-old boy, dressed in worn jeans and a black t- shirt, placed his hand on the window glass and the lingering summer warmth ran up his arm. His hair was buzzed short. However, it wasn’t by choice. A little over a week ago, the golden brown had just started to grow back.

The room was dimly lit, which allowed him to look into the night without the artificial glare obscuring his view. Through his glasses, he watched the drops of water bead up on the windowpane and run like rivers of tears. He liked the rain. To him it meant luck or the closest thing to it.

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