My name is John Dark, but my parents call me Johnny. I'm fourteen, and I just had a big argument with them. That's why I'm now walking aimlessly in the night, tired of this boring, gray city.

We used to live in a cozy suburban house near a forest reservation, and I loved it there: I love feeling one with nature and losing myself in the wild greenery and primitive contemplation.

I'm not a person with a good inner compass; I get lost easily, but I always find my way back. I remember zigzagging for an hour in random directions and feeling the thrill of the dark night closing in, not knowing if I would get back in time for bed  or I'd sleep in the wild.

I don't like big cities with their ever-shining lights. For those who've never been in a forest on a new moon night, you don't really know what true darkness is like. It's a wondrous feeling of absolute mystery, like floating over the ground and haunting the earth on your way back home.

I miss that feeling, and that's why I fought with my parents. I hate it here – the cold stone, heartless concrete, kilometers of asphalt, and towering buildings that obscure the sky. I remember crying when I looked up and couldn't see the stars anymore.

They tried to explain that Dad had to take a job here as an office worker (I didn't really pay attention) and that it was a necessary measure to continue affording groceries. Mom tried to bribe me with prestigious schools, themed parks, cinemas, and high-tech gadgets. She even mentioned the "night's colors," referring to neon signs and LED lights.

I don't like how Dad's out all day, and Mom's got to take care of a million things instead of being with me. It's like I've dissapeared, like the lack of care of the inner city was contagious and now my parents got it too.

So I ran away. I'm tired of being here; I prefer being a feral in the woods than a worker bee trapped in a honeycomb cell. The news spreads terror 24/7, and every passerby looked at me with scrutinizing eyes.

I've been in this neighborhood for two months now, and as an explorer, I know it pretty well. The first thing I did was avoid the avenues because they're so easy to identify – just follow one long enough, and you'll end up in a familiar place.

I breathed more easily once I escaped the annoying sounds of cars and honking. The streets were far more tranquil, though still with many passersby and cars. The city cars were all much uglier and weak-looking that the pick-up trucks and the 4x4s I'm used to, and I couldn't help but thinking that there wasn't a real person inside those polarized windows, but some sort of robot.

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Trees grew alongside the street, and weeds and wildflowers sprouted from the cracks in the tiles, proof of life's tenacity. I turned again, getting deeper into the city, and the sounds dimmed.

Then, much to my displeasure, I came across another avenue, that I recognized was barely fifteen blocks away from my house. I could've sworn I walked longer, but probably backtracked due to all the zigzagging.

I passed quickly through the avenue and slipped back into the streets, getting into alleyways and backtracking once or twice due to dead ends. Maybe I wouldn't have hated life here so much if I'd lived in one of these dead-end alleyways, completely apart from the rest of the city.

I wished I'd brought one of my books to enjoy the place before moving on, but it wasn't the time. My favorite story is Arthur Gordon Pym, a dusty book I found in a forgotten box when we were moving out, it's about a person that just like me loves getting lost, I always wonder if he ever made it back.

As I continued, the hours passed, and the lights dimmed. The buildings became abandoned – an ex-industrial area, common in this city. I liked it here; it reminded me of the woods. The broken windows and the creeping vines have the same overgrown-theme I grown to love.

The public lights were mostly dead, as there were almost no neighbors to petition for repairs, and it seemed like the local government only did the minimum. Best for me – I appreciated the greenish stones and weird graffiti. 

My anger against Mom subsided.

I realized that people sleep at night, and that the city isn't always overcrowded subways and buses, yelling sellsmen and bustling streets. It's like the past few months were pure noice inside my head, and the noice made it impossible to see anything else.

Then, I heard someone yelling in the next block. I couldn't see them, but guessing from their voices, there were four men, around thirty and forty, and one was terribly drunk. It dawned on me that I was defenseless.

I wished I had Dad's pocket knife, anyone could do with me whatever and there was no one to help me!

I started walking faster. I heard them speaking to a young woman; I thought about going back, but what could I do? I prayed she could handle herself.

I went back into a nearby avenue, slimmer than the others. But it was also abandoned, with closed shops and drunkards walking in the middle of the road.

I quickly returned to the streets, took a few turns, and sighed in relief when I heard silence.

Now, I started looking at street signs, trying to get my bearings. But I had no idea what part of the neighborhood I was in. The hours had passed, and I was getting thirsty, sleepy, and nervous.

Where was I?