As the final bell of Lincoln High rings, a symphony of sounds floods the atmosphere, signaling the end of another long day at school for the students. The afternoon sun casts a golden hue over the buildings, its rays filtering through the scattering of clouds to illuminate the bustling scene at the school's gates.

Students spill out of the buildings in waves, their laughter and chatter creating a vibrant tapestry of sound. The air is ripe with the energy of released pent-up anticipation, a celebration of freedom from the day's constraints of lessons and lectures.

Groups form quickly, clusters of friends reuniting after hours spent in different classrooms. The schoolyard becomes a sea of students, excited recounting of the day, and plans being eagerly made for the evening ahead. It's a microcosm of youthful exuberance, where every niche and clique finds representation.

A group of students excitedly discuss their plans for tonight – Halloween.

“You guys know tonight is also a blood moon, right?” one of them says.

“A blood moon? I think there was one a few years ago too, wasn’t there?” Another replies nonchalantly.

“But tonight's blood moon falls exactly on Halloween, something that happens once every 3000 years! That's why Halloween this year is being celebrated big time in many places!”

“Wow!”

“My cousin and I are going trick-or-treat in the Petersburg area. The houses there are super rich. I heard they give out fancy candies,” one brags.

“Stop bluffing, man. That area has security gates, who’s going to let you in?” One mocks.

“My cousin has a friend who lives there; they’ll let us in,” the kid replies with a wide grin.

“Wowwww!”

“Trick-or-treat? How old are you guys?” A kid wearing a soccer team jersey passes by and scoffs.

“In Petersburg, man! Do you have any idea how big of a deal it is to get in there!” The first kid retorts angrily.

“Coincidentally, I’m also going to Petersburg tonight, but I’m going to a party,” the soccer kid smirks.

“If you're going to lie, at least be creative about it, don’t just copy me.”

“Did you guys know today is also Aaron’s birthday? His family is throwing a huge party. He invited his whole class and the entire soccer team!”

“Aaron Attenborough??? Are you serious?”

At Lincoln High, there are quite a few kids named Aaron, but Aaron Attenborough, who lives in Petersburg and plays for the soccer team, is the only one.

Mentioning Aaron Attenborough, it’s likely there are few in the school who don’t know him. “Born at the finish line,” as his peers jokingly say. Standing 6’1 tall, with a well-proportioned body and sharply defined features along with deep brown eyes, he's like a movie star, making Aaron the crush of many girls at school.

Moreover, born into a wealthy family and possessing outstanding soccer talent, Aaron is also popular with the guys.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“If you don’t believe me, ask the others on the soccer team!” the kid replies disdainfully. To prove his point, another kid from the soccer team calls out to him from a distance,

“Hey, David, we’ll pass by and pick you up at 6:00, ok?”

“Sure man!”

“Man, I bet the party is going to be lit!” the first kid says enviously.

“I’ll take lots of pictures to show you guys!”

“Get lost, man, stop bragging!” another kid curses him, but his eyes betray his admiration.

In stark contrast to this lively tableau stands Luther, solitary and silent amidst the chaos. He exits the school gates with a measured pace, an island of calm in the turbulent sea of his peers.

His presence, or lack thereof, barely registers in the collective consciousness of the bustling students around him. Even the bullies, always on the prowl for easy marks, seem oblivious to his existence. For any other student, the solitary figure would be a point of discussion, yet Luther passes by unseen, unnoticed, as if cloaked in an invisible shroud.

His path leads him away from the groups of chattering students, each step taking him further into solitude. There's an almost tangible barrier between him and the rest of his peers, a divide that goes unnoticed by everyone but him. It's as though he moves in a different dimension, parallel to the world of laughter and companionship that surrounds him.

Luther makes his way to the school bus, its bright yellow paint shining under the sun's waning light. He steps aboard, finding a seat towards the back where the din of conversations feels somewhat muted. The bus rumbles to life, and as it navigates through the streets, more students pile in, filling the once-quiet space with the buzz of after-school excitement.

Sitting next to Luther is an outgoing girl who becomes the center of attention on the bus from her seat near the back. With a voice that carries and a charisma that draws others in, she orchestrates the conversations across the rows, her energy undiminished by the day's end. Yet, in all this, she doesn't give Luther, the one sits next to her, even a fleeting glance, as if she’s trying to avoid any interaction with him.

Despite undergoing something that almost seems like an abuse, Luther, for his part, shows no sign of wanting to breach this divide. He seems enveloped in his own world, one where the vibrant life around him fades into the background. Reaching into his schoolbag, he takes out a pair of headphones and puts them on. The cushioned earpieces are like a gateway to another realm. The moment the music starts, the noisy chatter of the bus dims, replaced by melodies and rhythms that only he can hear.

His gaze drifts to the bus windows, the passing scenery a blur of colors and shapes. Buildings, trees, and the occasional pedestrian flash by, each frame a fleeting snapshot of life outside the bus. Luther's mind wanders with the view, lost in thoughts that are as distant as the landscapes he observes.

Walking down the bus, Luther moves past the familiar streets of the neighborhood. With each step, he moves like a shadow, his existence barely registering in the bustling world around him. His light-curl short black hair dances lightly in the breeze. His dark blue eyes, almost too dark to be blue, that people often mistakenly take as black if they don’t pay close attention, reminiscent of the starless midnight sky, hold a mixture of innocence and an enigmatic depth that few notice and even fewer understand.

The afternoon sun hangs low, casting elongated shadows that mirror Luther's own sense of elongation from the world. Wrapped in his own contemplations, he inadvertently collides shoulder-to-shoulder with a towering figure—a man whose very presence seems to exude an air of menace. The man, with muscles that appear to have been carved from stone, tattoos all over his arms, and a gaze that could pierce through steel, turns abruptly, his face contorting in a snarl.

For a fleeting moment, their worlds collide. The man's eyes, ignited with a fury born of the intrusion, lock onto Luther's. An intense stare, one that promises retribution, holds Luther in its grip.

"What the …" the angry words are about to slip out of his lips and then suddenly stop.

Yet, as quickly as the storm had brewed, the anger dissipates without any apparent reason. Confusion flickers across the man's features, his brows knitting together in a silent question to himself. Without saying another word, he turns away, dismissing Luther as if he were nothing more than a wisp of air, an insignificant occurrence in his day.

Luther, during the whole thing, doesn't pause, doesn't react. This is his life, his reality. He has grown accustomed to being unseen, unnoticed—a ghost moving through the lives of others, leaving no imprint, no echo.

Luther's journey through life has been one of silent observation, his presence barely acknowledged, if at all. It's as if a veil has been cast upon him since birth, rendering him invisible to the collective consciousness of those around him.