Issue Three

Night had barely fallen when two hikers
spotted a teenage boy running naked
through the woods. He thrashed wildly,
tumbling down the trails of Griffith Park,
all limbs and urgency. Moments later,
the angry spotlight of a police chopper
circled the area until the teen fell in its
cross hairs. He wasn’t more than twelve
or thirteen, the hair around his sex a
mere shadow of what it would
become. The teen cut right, then left,
trying to evade the light, but it was no
use. Instead, he lost his footing and
plunged down the hill, falling headfirst
and rolling like the agony of defeat until
he landed near a rotting
stump. Scraped and dazed, the boy
stood up only to find himself bathed in
light from two squad cars.
He shivered like a frightened animal as
flashlights blinded him from two
silhouetted figures. They asked him
questions he had trouble
understanding. The boy refused to give
his name, age or location of his
parents. Not because he was
streetwise and trying to stay out of
trouble – just the opposite. The boy
simply didn’t know his own name. Or,
more exactly, couldn’t remember. But
the boy’s obstinacy frustrated the
officers and they ribbed him about his
acne, lanky frame and exposed
manhood, such as it was.
At the Wilcox police station, they shoved
a small tube in his mouth and told him to
blow on it. The Breathalyser came up
negative. One Officer figured the kid
had mental problems. Kids today were
like monsters, running amok, their
scheduled play dates and coddling,
coming home to roost once they
crossed into double-digits. Spending
the night in the pen might scare him
straight.
The Officer took the boy’s finger and
rubbed it in ink, but his finger left no
imprint. He repeated the procedure with
the same result. On closer inspection,
the Officer saw that the boy’s fingers
were as smooth as a baby’s
bottom. Milky white and empty.
The Officer approached the bars of the
cell. “You on any medication, son?”
The boy looked up, now clothed in a
jumpsuit too large for his size. The pant
bottoms touched the floor. His eyes like
saucers. The words people spoke
started to make sense. “No, sir.”
At least the kid had some manners. The
Officer continued, “What were you
running from out there?”
“Some kinda animals. They were
chasing me. Like they were trying to
trap me.”
“What kind of animals?”
“It was dark. They were growling. I
didn’t get a good look.” The boy
seemed genuinely scared. Maybe the
Officer had pegged him wrong.