A Better Way

"If you look far enough back," the boy said, selecting each word like a stone picked to wound, "you'll see that the distance you walk home from your office every evening amounts to nothing gained for me. You grow tired, perhaps, but for me, the very act of scrambling after people, begging, is what confirms I am still alive." ‎ ‎Mr. Hayes said nothing. He walked the same path every evening, from office to home, through this settlement, past the mountains of garbage beside which some patch of earth had been scraped clean and called a football ground. He spent considerable time here most days, watching clusters of boys play. ‎ ‎"You could find something better than this," Mr. Hayes said, without looking at him. "Better than begging. Sell something, anything. Without the grovelling." ‎ ‎"I could sell something?" Ethan asked, with a curiosity that surprised even himself. Mr. Hayes had never given him anything beyond a handful of coins. A piece of advice was something altogether new. "But what?" ‎ ‎A little further along, Mr. Hayes settled into his usual spot and fixed his gaze on the boys playing ahead. Ethan sat beside him. ‎ ‎"I've never seen you play," Mr. Hayes said. "Do you?" ‎ ‎"You know why they play?" Ethan replied, watching the field. "Because they believe, they genuinely believe, that one day they'll appear in a stadium full of people watching them. So for them, this is practice." ‎ ‎"And for you?" Mr. Hayes murmured. ‎ ‎"Nothing." ‎ ‎"What can you do?" ‎ ‎"Aside from what I'm already doing, hardly anything, I suppose." ‎ ‎Both remained silent for a while. Mr. Hayes handed Ethan whatever food remained from his day. The boy ate without hesitation. Across the ground, one of the playing boys glanced over, stared for a moment, then turned back to the game. ‎ ‎"You were saying that I could sell something?" Ethan asked, still eating. ‎ ‎"Yes, of course. You could be a salesman." ‎ ‎"A salesman??" The boy laughed. ‎ ‎"I think you'd do better at it than at anything else," Mr. Hayes said. ‎ ‎He lit a cigarette, took one slow drag, and passed it sideways to Ethan, which was, in truth, one of the principal reasons Ethan kept close to him at all. ‎ ‎"What am I supposed to sell?" he asked. ‎ ‎"Poison," said Mr. Hayes, with a quiet smile. ‎ ‎He reached into his bag and produced a small white packet, pressing it into Ethan's hand. "Anyone will take this from you. Easier than selling groceries." ‎ ‎He rose and walked away. ‎ ‎Ethan turned the white packet over and over in his fingers, examining it carefully. He trusted Mr. Hayes. And sheltered within the shadow of that trust, he allowed himself to think, perhaps this was it. Perhaps what he had been handed was a white packet of hope.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading this one. Maryam Batool will write the next part, so stay tuned. She will do something amazing 😊