THE BROKEN DREAMS

Fred didn't know how long he stayed locked in that damp box of a cell.

Hours?

Days?

Weeks?

There was no clock.

No sun.

Just the endless dripping of water from cracked ceilings and the occasional rat skittering across his bare, bloody feet.

The walls whispered to him now.

Whispered of betrayal.

Of pain.

Of loneliness so deep it gnawed on his bones.

He pressed his forehead against the icy floor.

The taste of iron — blood from his split lip — filled his mouth.

His mind, once lively and curious, was now... silent.

Not broken.

No.

Something worse.

Hollowed.

--

One afternoon — or maybe it was night — Fred heard heavy boots thudding outside his cell.

The lock clanked.

The door creaked open.

Blinding light flooded in, making Fred recoil like a beaten dog.

A shadow stepped inside.

Principal Daniel Karanja.

The man who had expelled him.

Who had laughed when the police dragged Fred away.

Today, Karanja wore a smug expression.

Gray suit. Sharp shoes.

A red tie that looked almost obscene against Fred's battered body.

Behind him stood two guards, smirking.

Karanja crouched so their faces were inches apart.

Fred could smell expensive cologne masking the rot inside the man.

> "I just came to see," Karanja sneered, "if the golden boy still thinks he's special."

Fred didn't answer.

Couldn't.

His tongue felt glued to the roof of his dry mouth.

Karanja laughed.

Low and cruel.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny.

Fred blinked.

A photograph.

He tossed it onto Fred's chest.

It was a picture of Fred's former classmates.

Laughing at a graduation party.

Champagne bottles popping.

Girls in short, glittery dresses.

Boys in designer suits.

All smiling.

All free.

While Fred rotted.

Karanja's voice dropped to a whisper:

> "Forgot to invite you, son."

He stood up, dusted off his pants like Fred's mere presence had soiled him, and walked away.

The door slammed shut.

Darkness swallowed Fred again.

But this time... something broke inside.

And it didn't feel like sorrow.

It felt like fire.

---

Fred sat motionless for a long time.

The picture still clutched in his shaking fingers.

He stared at the laughing faces.

Faces he once trusted.

Faces he once loved.

Betrayers.

All of them.

Something cold slid over Fred's heart.

A decision.

> "I will never trust again. I will never love again. I will never be weak again."

He tore the photo into tiny pieces with trembling hands.

Let the pieces scatter around him like dead leaves.

The boy who loved people...

The boy who believed in goodness...

That boy died that night.

What rose from the ashes was something different.

Not evil.

Not cruel.

Just... untouchable.

Unbreakable.

Untouchable like stone.

--

A week later, the cell door opened again.

This time it was Officer Kipkorir.

Smiling.

Not kindly.

> "Congratulations, prisoner," he said mockingly. "You've been released."

Fred blinked at him.

Didn't move.

Couldn't believe it.

Kipkorir threw a bundle of filthy clothes at him.

> "Change. You're out of here."

Fred staggered to his feet, every bone protesting.

He changed into the scratchy clothes.

Walked barefoot down the endless corridors.

Past the guards who snickered behind their hands.

Past the prisoners who stared with dead eyes.

At the final gate, the guards handed him a plastic bag.

Inside:

His torn school uniform.

A battered school ID.

A few coins — worthless.

And nothing else.

No apology.

No explanation.

Just the wide, cruel world waiting.

--

When Fred stepped into the blinding sun, it felt like walking onto another planet.

He stumbled across the cracked pavement, shielding his eyes.

Everything felt too loud.

Too bright.

Too big.

He realized he had no home anymore.

No family.

No school.

No friends.

Just a ruined life.

He stood there for a long time, cars rushing past, people not even sparing him a glance.

A nobody.

An invisible scarred boy with nowhere to go.

---

Fred walked.

And walked.

Through dusty streets filled with shouting hawkers.

Past glitzy malls he was too poor to enter.

Past restaurants where rich students laughed over pizza slices he couldn't afford.

Until he reached a dirty alleyway and collapsed.

There, sitting on the hard concrete, Fred made himself one promise:

> "I will rise. I don't care how long it takes. I will rise."

And when I do…

> "They will all regret ever touching me."

---