A fifteen-year-old boy stood poised on the bridge, his eyes fixed intently on the pond's tranquil surface below. His long, black hair partially obscured his face, while his tattered and worn clothing hinted at a prolonged use for rough work. He stood motionless, his hands resting on the weathered railings of the bridge, lost in thought as he gazed out at the water.
As he stood there, a steady stream of activity flowed around him. About four men traversed the bridge, their movements purposeful as they carried loads and cartons to and fro. At one end of the bridge, a sturdy truck was parked, its cargo bed filled to capacity with an assortment of goods and merchandise, mirroring the loads being transported by the men.
Suddenly, a familiar yet unsettling male voice pierced the air, originating from the opposite side of the bridge, where the men were heading.
"Hey, Mason!" the voice called out.
However, the young boy seemed utterly absorbed in the view of the pond below, oblivious to the summons.
"What are you staring at in the water? Is there something in there?" the voice came again, this time closer and more distinct.
The boy, Mason, merely hummed a noncommittal response, nodding his head slightly without acknowledging the speaker or breaking his gaze from the pond's surface.
The boy who had approached Mason stepped closer to the edge of the bridge, positioning himself alongside his companion. He leaned forward, his chest resting against the railings as he peered downward, attempting to discern what had captivated Mason's attention.
"I don't see anything," he said in curiosity. "What's in the pond, Mason?"
"My reflection," Mason replied, his expression inscrutable as his long hair fell downward, allowing him to gaze at the pond's surface below. "I've always noticed something peculiar whenever I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the water."
The boy standing beside Mason let out a derisive snarl. He reached out and smacked Mason on the back of the head, his action accompanied by a grumble.
"You fool! I wasted my time leaving my work to listen to your absurd ramblings." His face twisted with annoyance as he continued to glare. However, Mason seemed entirely unfazed by the verbal and physical abuse.
Just then, a female voice echoed toward them, loud, but there was a bit of weakness in it. "Leave him alone, Raymond!" the voice commanded. "I've told you before not to pick on Mason. If you continue to bully him, I'll make sure to tell my mother!"
Mason, who had been steadfastly ignoring Raymond's harassment as he stared at the pond, suddenly turned around as he heard the familiar voice. A warm smile spread across his face as he caught sight of the speaker. It was Nana, his one and only best friend and sister.
Mason Robinson was an orphan, having never known or met his parents. He had grown up in an orphanage home, where he had faced relentless bullying and harassment. At the age of twelve, the situation had become so unbearable that Mason had been forced to flee, seeking refuge at Nana's house.
Three years ago, on the fateful day he left the orphanage, Mason found himself walking home alone, a familiar and isolating experience. As a poor orphan, he was often shunned by his peers, who would ridicule him for his tattered and outdated school uniforms.
The journey home was a daunting one, as he would deliberately have to pass through a particular location where his tormentors, a group of ruthless street bullies, would lie in wait.
These bullies had made it a point to harass Mason regularly, and he knew that failing to encounter them would only invite more severe consequences. They would often threaten to break his limbs or inflict even more grievous injuries if he didn't comply with their demands.
Mason lived in perpetual fear of these bullies, and the prospect of reporting them to the authorities seemed like a futile endeavor. Who would listen to him, anyway? The orphanage staff had long since given up on him, and at school, he was just a poor, sponsored student amidst a sea of affluent classmates.
Mason's academic prowess was undeniable, but he had learned to downplay his intelligence to avoid drawing attention to himself. Jack, the school's resident genius, was notorious for his intolerance towards anyone who dared to challenge his intellectual superiority.
To avoid arousing Jack's ire, Mason would deliberately answer questions incorrectly during exams, a desperate attempt to conceal his true abilities and avoid becoming the target of Jack's wrath.
This charade had become a ridiculous and suffocating aspect of Mason's life, a constant reminder of the precarious and isolated existence he was forced to endure.
As Mason navigated the narrow alleyway, his heart began to pound furiously in his chest, threatening to burst free from his ribcage. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, breaking and trickling down his face in a slow, torturous dance.
Despite his valiant efforts to conceal his anxiety, his body betrayed him, broadcasting his fear for all to see. Just as he was starting to think he might escape his tormentors, a voice called out from behind, echoing off the alleyway's walls.
"Hey, poor boy!" It was Mark, one of his most persistent bullies.
As Mason turned to face him, he was confronted by a semi-circle of menacing figures. Ben, the apparent ringleader, stood at the forefront, flanked by two of his cohorts. Ben's eyes narrowed as he glared at Mason.
"Didn't we tell you to be here immediately after school?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet, here you are... six minutes late. How should we punish you now?"
Mason's eyes widened in terror as he dropped to his knees, his hands clasped together in a futile attempt to placate his tormentors.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pleaded, his words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate bid for mercy. "I'll be quick next time, I promise." His sweat poured down his face in rivulets, soaking his worn uniform and rendering it clingy and uncomfortable.
Ben stepped closer and bent down beside him, a mischievous grin on his lips and his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure.
"You're always like this, Mason," he said. "Always late, always pleading like a baby. Stop sniveling and get up, or people will think we're bullying you."
The other boys burst into laughter, their jeers and catcalls echoing down the alleyway like a chorus of mocking demons.
Ben pulled Mason up and wrapped his hand around his shoulder. As he drew him closer, he whispered, "Did you bring them?"
Mason nodded, his eyes downcast, as he rummaged through his backpack and produced a packet of cigarettes. When Ben and his cohorts laid eyes on the single packet, they let out a collective hiss of dissatisfaction. Mark's face twisted in frustration.
"Now tell me, poor boy, what are we supposed to do with just one packet?" he snapped. "Couldn't you do better than this?"
"I was almost caught when I stole them this morning, so I had to leave quickly to avoid being suspected. I'll get more of them tomorrow, I promise!" Mason explained.
Ben bent down beside him, his anger simmering.
"You're a minor, kid. No one's going to arrest you for stealing some packet of cigarettes from a store," he growled. "Look at us, we're 19. One mistake, and we'll end up behind bars. Do you want that to happen to us?"
Mason hesitated, shaking his head slowly, though it was clear that he secretly wished for just that outcome.
"If you don't want that to happen to us, you need to get your act together! Do as you're told, okay?" Ben continued to lecture him, and Mason nodded frantically, his breathing becoming ragged gasps.
"I'll do as I'm told," he stammered.
"If you fail tomorrow, I'm going to have to take that necklace you value more than your life," Mark sneered, his words adding another layer of menace to the conversation, sending Mason into a panic.
"You can't take it, you promised you would take something else from me, but leave the necklace alone," Mason protested, his body shaking like jelly.
Ben turned to Mark, his expression turning serious.
"You shouldn't have said that to him. He's already scared enough; now he'll be even more reluctant to come here tomorrow if he fails, especially with you threatening him with his necklace!" he said, and Mark looked away, seemingly chastened.
"I was planning to take the necklace from him if he didn't bring us what we want tomorrow. But now that you've threatened him with it, I'll have to seize it from him until he comes back tomorrow."
Ben's gaze shifted to Mason, and his expression softened, adopting a reassuring tone. "Don't worry, boy, we won't sell it. We'll just hold onto it until we meet again tomorrow, okay?"
Mason's eyes widened in alarm as he shook his head vehemently, refusing Ben's proposal. He grasped the flat circle pendant on his neck and took slow, deliberate steps backward, his eyes locked on Ben as if fearful of being pounced upon.
Mason knew the significance of the necklace and was unwilling to risk losing it to anyone. The necklace was the only possession he had owned his entire life.
Twelve years ago, when he was just a toddler, he was found abandoned in front of the orphanage home. The necklace had been around his neck, accompanied by a note with a cryptic message: the necklace must never leave his neck.
However, some of the nannies who had taken care of him had ignored the warning and tried to take off the necklace from his neck.
But each time they made the attempt, something inexplicable would always occur, causing them to recoil and take to their heels. None of the nannies could explain what they felt, which had led to more bafflement.