EXTERIOR

Today is the day. A rain of unidentified rock fragments, detected a few days ago by numerous astronomical observatories, is predicted for today's warm, seemingly rainfall-free night.

It is recommended to stay indoors, and for your own safety, it is not advisable to stay on balconies or other exposed spaces.

The inhabitants of our humble Grovehart must be especially careful, since this area will be the target of the greatest number of meteorites.

We have heard unofficial rumors of the resumption of the local laboratory in which the government would allow the necessary scientific experiments on the most dangerous prisoners serving life sentences. This information was met with great support by...

The old radio crackled a warning as Timmy's bag landed heavily on the bed next to it.  The boy swiftly darted across the room as if he were playing hopscotch or escaping through a minefield, avoiding loose floor panels.

Waking up the entire orphanage wasn't hard, and this time he wasn't going to test his luck. It would take a long time to talk about the events (fortunate and less) that took place here. But that's not what the story is about.

After spending a few seconds, he bent down and tapped lightly on the side of the small terrarium. His eight-legged friend slipped out of hiding, and he honored him with a quick smile before resuming completion of his inventory.

You can already see the first fragments in the sky, we remind you to observe the phenomenon from a safe shelter. Scientists appeal for rationality and not to touch the objects found...

The white-and-blue light burst into the room, embracing the modest possessions of Timmy and himself, who was observing this cosmic work of art with fascination and positively stimulating fear.

Without taking his eyes off the sky, he grasped the lower, sliding part of the window with both hands and with a soft grunt, pushed it upwards.

The wind modestly moved paper models of planetary systems and wooden figurines of insects hanging from the ceiling on thin threads. One of the praying mantis unfortunately lost one of its legs, which landed on the floor with a soft click.

But Timmy was already gone.

✦✦✦

Running was a kind of personal therapy for Leslie. The loss of memory made his life difficult - or so everyone said, on his behalf. In fact, he had the same knowledge of his past as the others. Nondescript.

On the other hand, how could he be sure that he had lived a good life before? The average person always complains about something, and sometimes even for a good reason.

But Leslie didn't complain, and he was almost sure that he hadn't done it before either. The numerous scars on his face, chest, and hands, on the other hand, were eager to argue with this sentence.

Raguel Park wasn't one with smooth sidewalks and benches devoid of drunken homeless people, but Leslie liked the park regardless.

In the midst of all this neglect, he didn't stand out as much as usual. And in his humble opinion, he suited this place - everyone was afraid to come here at night, and he himself looked like a bandit. He was almost forty years old, extraordinary height, broad shoulders, a face being a magnet for sharp objects.

At the sight of him, some passersby gave the impression that they were about to empty their pockets, lie down on the ground and accept their tragic fate in advance.

It's like with big dogs when people terrified of meeting a huge beast cross the street, and sometimes turn back to take a safer route. 

Leslie was like such a big dog. A Rottweiler who felt like a Golden Retriever inside. Of course, a lot depends on upbringing, but... let's stop pretending to be a specialist here.

It was normal for him to lack the sense of time, and he was not surprised when the darkness enveloped him, strenuously fought by the pale lights of the lanterns.

He stopped and took the earbuds out of his ears. He lazily tilted his head back and only then realized what night it was tonight. The bright spots in the sky were not blinding, but they kept getting bigger. Which means they were getting closer.

“Ah, so this is why there’s so few of those old, homeless trollops out this time…” he muttered to himself. “And this one lout lying under the bench is a sly fox.”

A noise nearby drew his attention from this Star Wars-like anomaly. The playground in this park was not very famous - the slide and the swings were rusty, and the steps from the wooden bridge were missing.

This time, however, someone was there. And not a junkie or beggar, but a child. A blond boy, thirteen at the most, stood on the leaky tower, passionately clutching a butterfly net in his hands.

“What's he up to?” Leslie frowned and faced the playground.

Standing outdoors wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Timmy's plan was just that. Not very clever, even a little absurd. However there was little time to think, and the circumstances were unique. 

The boy's eyes were fixed on one point. They were so stuck there that they didn't even notice the plastic bag flying overhead, or Leslie staring curiously ten yards away. 

The meteor was getting closer, and the fewer meters it had left to the ground, the more stressed the blonde boy was getting. Tense, he timidly stretched out his hands, trying to aim the net at the falling object. This, however, turned out to be more difficult than catching a baseball. But he was bad at that too.

The moment of the collision was like a car accident. While in it, we only remember fragments. Snapshots. It was as if someone turned the light off and on again every two seconds. It is actually similar to some discos.

From the boy's perspective, it looked something like this:

Bright glow.

Headache.

Loss of balance.

Close encounter with the ground.

Leslie watched everything closely, teeth clenched and his hands cool with fear. He watched as the limp body of the boy fell heavily on the gravel and sand, stirring up clouds of dust into the air.

The man froze in place.

“That tower was about four meters high!” He shuddered. “And that stone! It must have been going at dizzying speeds. Damn, this is worse than the worst hailstorm, no chance the kid survived.”

Hesitating between taking a step forward or a few steps back, he hardly noticed the faint sign of life. The boy doubled over in a sudden spurt, and then hesitantly rose to a seat. For a moment he stared at his scarred hands from the rough gravel he landed on.

Leslie moved forward without thinking. But he stopped, perhaps five meters from the stranger, and narrowed his eyes in astonishment.

“Is everything all right?” He exclaimed as a reflex, because with the naked eye it was obvious that it was not. He took a step forward, intending to get closer, but the kid aggressively crawled backward.

“Yes.” He said firmly. The voice, however, failed him  and swayed cowardly in the second sentence. “Don’t come any closer.”

Timmy was clutching a piece of rock that was emitting pure, snow-white light with one hand, and with the other he held his head at the spot of collision.

Fortunately, Leslie didn't see any traces of blood, but he was shocked for another reason. Between the boy's fingers, in the area of the right eyebrow, there was a light, identical to the one that the meteorite radiated with.

“And don't stare like that.” The boy added dryly, grabbing the bag.

After a few seconds of silence and awkward gazing at each other, Timmy jumped to his feet and tossed the find into his bag. Without taking his eyes off the stranger, he took a few uncertain steps backwards, as if realizing whether the man would chase him, then turned and walked briskly forward.

✦✦✦

Is stalking punishable? Probably yes, especially if you are a forty-year-old man of suspect appearance, following a thirteen-year-old at 1 AM. But what if it was done out of concern?

Stalking was never Leslie's cup of tea. Perhaps it was because of his inability to do it covertly. A massive man like him would attract attention with ease.

But Timmy didn't notice him. Dazed, he continued to go forward, but he did so with increasing difficulty. A headache, spots in front of his eyes, and weakness finally knocked him off his feet.

Despite the unpleasant tingling sensation, he didn't take his hand out of the bag, unknowingly letting the strange power be absorbed by the scratches on his hands.

The meteorite faded, finally becoming an ordinary pebble, not much different from those lying around the park. If it was left here somewhere, tossed in the grass, nobody would ever know that it came from outer space.

Concerned, Leslie approached the unconscious boy in a moment. After checking that the boy had not suffered any head injuries, except the obvious one, he scratched his chin. What is he going to do with it now?

He wasn’t going to take him to the hospital, because they would transfer him to that controversial laboratory in a moment, and the poor guy would become some kind of testing guinea pig. Who knew where his home was, or where his parents were? Though, taking him home was technically kidnapping, it seemed like the best possible option.

The man, with a gentleness not matching his appearance, took the young man in his arms, the bag on his shoulder, and hesitantly, but quickly, walked towards his home.

He prayed silently in his mind that he wouldn’t arouse suspicion in the officers who were probably patrolling the streets now. It would be best not to pass anyone for peace of mind.

The morning will decide what to do next. Shock and stress have exhausted his life energy so much that his only desire is to get a good night's sleep.

And not end up in jail for what he’s doing.