PROLOGUE:

“Get out! JUST GET OUT!” An elderly man in a drunken outrage chased his son out the door.
“You no longer belong in this family. You’re just trash! A small, worthless piece of stinky trash! GET OUT!” The man clumsily threw a guitar case at him. It landed next to the boy with a harsh thud.
“You’re abandoning me?” The son was startlingly calm. His sharp, blue eyes bore into the man, making shudders run down his spine.
“You will never step into this house.” The man said with cold finality, “As long as I live.” He slammed the door, leaving the boy outside in the cold and dead silence of the night.



Covered by nothing but a thin sheet, Isaac played a slow and messy tune on his broken down guitar. He stared out at the night, humming sadly. There were no stars in the sky, there were no cars on the road, and there were no people on the street. There was only the moon to accompany him on his way back home. It was a lonely night tonight, as Isaac walked into the usual small park. He slept in different places most of the time, but his favorite place was under a playground in a nearby park, dug inside a bright yellow tunnel. It was big enough to fit him and his blanket, but that was just about it. He always left his guitar in the case outside, hoping to see it there left alone when he woke up the next morning. Tonight would be the end of his first week out on the streets. It was a chilly night so he hugged his blanket tightly, and let sleep slowly take him.

Isaac woke up as soon as the sun had just about come up, brightening up the dark skies. This was when Isaac usually woke up, before the kids and the early joggers saw him. He got out of his tunnel, packed his blanket into his backpack, and swung the guitar case over his shoulder. His whole body was sore and cramped, but he was used to it. He yawned and rubbed his eyes until they were red. He walked around, looking for a spot to play. Not only were the kids and the joggers the reason he woke up so early, but also because he could claim a good space before some other hobo did. His blue eyes wandered to an empty area on the streets. It was a bright, airy space next to a quaint little flower shop. It led into an alley, but despite that, Isaac knew it was perfect. He was walking happily when he saw a figure approach near. The figure walked crookedly and wore countless, dirty layers of clothes. His face was pitch black, probably from the ash and coal work bums did nowadays. Isaac immediately knew that this hobo had his eyes on the space as well. Isaac was not going to let that happen.

“Back off!” Isaac yelled, running and ready to take him down for it.

The hobo looked up, surprised. His dark face wrinkled into a deep frown and he started to quicken his pace.

“I saw that spot first!” he cried. It was like fighting for a crayon in kindergarten, except this could turn out deadly.

“You obviously don’t know who I am!” The bum shouted, throwing his bag onto the ground. “This is my territory! It has been my territory since 1978!”

“Look old man,” Isaac replied with exasperation, “I saw that spot first for today. Let me just use it!”

“Go away!” he snarled.

“I saw it first!” he persisted angrily.

“Stubborn child. Listen to your elders!”

“I’ve been kicked out before and I’m not going to be kicked out again!” the bitter feelings for that man came back. It still shocked him that he had been kicked out of his own home. ‘He’s in there, alone with mom.’ he thought, biting back his clenching fears.

Isaac didn’t realize that the dispute brought spectators. A little crowd of people surrounded them, whispering and giving them fearful glances. Isaac scowled. He hadn’t expected it to be a big scene. Before he turned to walk away, he stared cold and hard at the older bum and sprinted off to the next street. He heard the bum’s chortle of laughter at Isaac’s loss fading as he ran.

Isaac hated running away. That time, and now as well.

The city was bustling and loud. Already, it was filled with people on their way to work. The streets were loud with honking and irritated yells and cursing. Despite all of the noise, Isaac felt strangely at peace. He had no one to worry about but himself in a sea of strangers. He was struck out of his focus when he heard anguish cries nearby.
“ROBBER! ROBBER!” shocked wails erupted through the sidewalks. Many pretended not to notice, but Isaac stopped and watched in alarm.
A man with two big sacks, and dressed all in black was running his way. So fast that Isaac could be run over.
Isaac could’ve ignored him. Isaac could go on with his life (wait, what life?). He didn’t have to interfere. The police could catch him. Isaac had nothing to do with it. He was just a passing nobody. But that’s not what he did. Isaac wanted to be somebody. Not just any somebody, he wanted to be a hero. A hero that didn’t run away.
With a great and surprising courage burning up inside him, he aimed his guitar like a baseball bat. The crowd instantly parted, again, not pretending to notice. But Isaac could feel a number of eyes on him. He was going to do this.
As soon as the man-in-black was close enough, Isaac didn’t think. He just let his instincts take over. He swung his guitar as hard as he could. The robber had been smacked in the stomach. Blood splurged out his mouth, shock in his eyes. He looked up at Isaac with the same, wild eyes that had been reminiscent to that man. His fears rose and he swung again. He had missed. The robber was fully in guard now, but this time, a gun was in his hands.
Isaac swung and swung again. First time, he missed again. Second time, the robber flew at the impact of the thrust and he fired the gun, before it dropped on the cold, cemented floor.
And before Isaac could completely comprehend the situation, an unbearable pain shot through his leg. He screamed and dropped to the floor. He had been shot! His own scream disappeared along with the citizens.

“He’s got a gun!”
“Call the police!”
“He shot him! He shot him! Someone help him!”


The robber was getting up, grabbing his sacks and grabbing his gun. But Isaac had beaten him. Despite the pain, he had crawled over and had taken the gun. It was now in HIS hands.

He aimed the gun in the robber’s way. “Drop the sacks.”

The robber did as he was told, and stiffly raised both of his arms. “Don’t shoot, man. Don’t shoot.”

Isaac didn’t reply. He heard sirens on the street, but kept the robber at gunpoint.


Isaac was later released from the hospital. He had lost a lot of blood, but time in the hospital helped him back up to his feet. At the same time Isaac stepped out of the hospital, the robber stepped in his prison cell.

In those very sacks, an overwhelming amount of 700,000 dollars was found in it. The robber was now in prison for burglary, aggravated assault, gun use, and fleeing from the police. He was serving hell.

And Isaac was in heaven. Newspapers, journal articles, television burst with the news of their city hero. The city couldn’t get enough of Isaac! He had even made it to national news, his story being told all over America.

Isaac had immediately been appointed as a spokesperson for an organization that helped homeless teenagers. In a sleek, black suit, Isaac stood in the front of his former home. He knocked on the door and it swung open. A revolting breeze of alcohol met him and a man, completely intoxicated, stood at the doorway. He sent Isaac a glare.

“Can I help you?”

Isaac stared down at him. It was not Isaac who was trash. It was him. And Isaac was here to throw him out.

“You don’t recognize me?” Isaac smirked and took his shades off.

The man gasped. “You… you…!”

“I’m here to take my mother back.”


Isaac didn’t care for him. He pushed him over and walked through the mess. His mother stood in the corner of the kitchen, weeping.

He laid his hand softly on her shoulder. She gasped and turned. Isaac’s mother was a frail woman and she was easily scared.

“I’m here to take you home.”