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Raphael
Wednesday, August 12, 2009

The Sun shot its powerful rays down on to the Earth, baking the asphalt pavement dry. Sam and I were happily strolling down the park connector while recalling our childhood memories. Being sixteen did not mean that we had to be at home listening to the radio while playing a computer game. We were just as contented taking our usual afternoon walk.

As we were heading towards the pavilion, a deafening shriek was heard. At first, I thought it was a just a fire drill nearby but I soon realised that the banshee-like scream did not belong to a rusty old alarm but a helpless human. My eyes scanned the area to find the person that yelled.

Suddenly, I saw a young boy being beaten up by some unruly teenagers. Being a “scaredy-cat”, Sam immediately took to his heels and ran off. I ran nearer to the fight and watched the whole horrific scene unfold. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine happy thoughts but it did not work.

In an instant, I sprung out of hiding and taunted the teenagers. Boy was I growing bold! I curled my fists into balls of iron and gave one of the teenagers a blow to his head. He did not even flinch!

I stepped back and realised that my “heroic” behaviour was going to get me into trouble. The lump in my throat grew bigger by the seconds. I swallowed my fear and took to my heels. It was no use. My nimble and weak legs would not make any difference even if I were to sprint. The teenagers were hot on my heels.

“Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I took my last breath. I fell to the floor and braced myself for a big beating. A foot was on my chest. One of the teenagers stepped on me while the others kicked and punched me. Hurling vulgarities and insults, the group of teenagers backed off when they saw a crowd forming around them. A quadragenarian suddenly pulled out his phone and threatened to call the police if they did not let me go. Afraid, I got up and ran as fast as I could to a pavilion to rest. Moments later, a young boy and his mother entered the resting area and looked at me. The boy handed me a box of cakes and stepped back.

Confused, I stared at the boy and tried to return it. Then, the mother looked at me, said a gentle word of thanks and walked off happily with her son.

Suddenly, the pain of my bruises disappeared. A feeling of warmth filled my heart. I realised that by running away, the teenagers changed their target and pounded on me. My little act of “un-knowing” self-sacrifice had turned into an unforgettable memory, for in the eyes of the boy’s mother, I was a hero, an angel in disguise.


2:30 AM