In the service they called him “the Schoolboy” but that was before The Fall. No one would confuse him for a schoolboy now; only 4 people saw what he did and they’re dead, but everyone who saw his face knew he had done something. It showed in his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, the darkness around his eyes, the rigid lines of his face, the broad shoulders permanently sloped to the right, rippling forearms, large twisted hands; he was a hard man, he had done hard things. Even still, he wasn’t always like this; but if everyone could see the shell, few could see through. The only ones who could, consistently, were those kids on Saturday mornings. Maybe it wasn’t that they saw through the shell but for some reason they ignored the shell, or their youth clouded their eyes to it. He was thankful for that, those kids were the only things keeping him going, they were his atonement, but there was always more to repay.

​He had been planning to get out. He had seen often enough what happened when people didn’t. It wasn’t his fault, he had been asked to go one step too far. He’d tell you though, he didn’t say no, didn’t even protest. No one who knew anything would blame him and he wouldn’t blame anyone else. It was just a thing that happened, maybe time would cure him, but probably not. The people who knew tried to help him, but some things can’t be helped. And maybe he didn’t want it.