This is stupid. Eleven-year-old Reese Hughes was sitting on the stone fence by a slightly run-down playground, tossing a baseball from hand to hand absently. His sixth-grade teacher, Miss Johnson, liked giving out weird homework. Lately, she'd been dishing out assignments to write paragraphs with a topic word. The word was almost always one no used outside of genius colleges or something.
This week's word only proved that point. No one in the sixth grade had ever heard the word ubiquitous before. Miss Johnson had "nicely" explained what it meant: Present or appearing everywhere, or widespread. Reese let the baseball rest in one hand for a moment. He could hardly pronounce the word, let alone find something to write a paragraph on using it. He rolled his eyes, resuming his tossing of his baseball.
"Dogs are," he said to himself. "People are." But those answers weren't exactly creative, and creativity was what his teacher wanted. Reese let out an explosive sigh. It was getting dark and he needed to get home. Being grounded on top of dumb schoolwork wouldn't help anything. He hopped off the fence and started to walk toward his home.
The street lamps hadn't yet turned on, so the road was dark and shadowless, aside from very dim ones cast by the thin crescent moon. Reese heard a rustle in the bushes to the side of the road from him and his grip tightened on his baseball.
Cut it out, you big baby, he reprimanded himself. What are you, five? He continued walking through a stretch with no houses, only fields of real estate on either side of the road. Subconsciously, he began to walk faster. He always hated walking on this part of the road home, though he'd never admit it to anyone. The same slight noise repeated itself in bushes a few feet behind him and he gritted his teeth.
Almost there. Almost there. The houses started again a little way in front of him. He continued repeating this mantra in his head, walking quickly, until a twig snapped behind him. He froze in place, turning around involuntarily. A cold breeze ruffled through his sandy red-blonde hair, making him shiver. There was nothing suspicious in the space behind him, but the bushes could've been concealing any number of things.
Just run, he told himself. He fought a stupid itch to go explore the noise, but he decided not to after a moment of debate. With an exhale of tense worry, he turned back towards the looming houses and started walking again. After a moment footsteps began to echo his in the now dark night. This was definitely not his imagination.
His breath quickening, he started to run. A cold hand grabbed his wrist and wrenched it, spinning him around roughly. A dark-eyed stare fixed him through a mask. He struggled and cried out. The masked man felt his jeans pocket and pulled out the money he'd earned from a lot of work. He'd been planning to go to the store before he'd been distracted by his schoolwork.
"Hey! Let me go!" Reese tried to pull his wrist away. A light flicked on in the nearest house. The man hit him on the jaw with his spare hand, sending Reese sprawling to the hard pavement. Reese heard quick footsteps running away. His head reeling, Reese tried to lift himself from the cement.
"Ow!" His left arm gave out when he put weight on it. A gentle pair of arms lifted him up. He looked up and saw Mrs. Morgan. She appeared to be surrounded by a white blur, but Reese thought it might've just been him.
"Now, Reese Hughes, what are you doing out here?" She asked, apparently not wanting an answer. She dusted him off and gently touched his jaw. With a tutting sound, she began leading him toward his house. "It's scum like that that should be put away for good! Attacking young boys. Really!" Her flaming red hair was in curlers, bouncing as she shook her head.
"Thanks," he muttered as they reached his front porch. "I can go in."
"Alright. You tell your folks hello. And put some ice on that bruise." Reese nodded.
"Okay." He felt rather numb and distant, his head still spinning from the punch. He held his left arm awkwardly to his chest and walked in. After his parents finished first worrying over him and fixing him up, then scolding him, Reese was left in his room. In spite of his getting beat up, he was, in fact, grounded for a week. As he sat down on his bed, Reese suddenly had an idea. He moved to his writing desk and picked up a pencil.
The next morning, complete with a bright purple bruise and bandaged arm, he happily handed in his paragraph. It began with the following words: Crime is ubiquitous.
And that was the day that Reese Hughes decided he wanted to be a police officer.
A/N: So, where that story (and the prompt!) came from, I'll never really know. My brain processes are strange. Thank you for all your reviews! I'm sad there are only five stories left after this... *sniffle* It's been fun. So, who thinks little Reese Hughes is adorable? Raise of hands!