He was always at the centre of things. He always had more hair, his parents owned the biggest yard. He always rode the smartest bike.
Hell, he even had the best girls. He knew how to catch them.
But that wasn’t always the way.
When he was small he was scrawny. Like a little chick hatched out without any feathers.
In those days, the older boys used to run a little wild in the street and he’d want to run with them. But they just left him behind.
It didn’t take him long to fill out, get taller, learn how to run faster.
Then came trouble. Just little things to begin with. Stealing candy bars. Smoking cigarettes, then taking dope.
There was one time he stole a car, just to go joy-riding.
Before long, he had a reputation. Most of the rest of us learned to steer clear of him.
He got in with a bad crowd. People the rest of us didn’t know. People we didn’t even want to know.
Sad to think of it now, but the last I heard he was doing time. Caught in a net of petty crime and drug dealing, he’d been busted by the NYPD and found guilty.
Such an innocent child, just like the rest of us. But grown too fast, too wild and – the law thought – too big for his boots.
He never did let me borrow his fishing net.
One of a series of very short stories you’ll find at Pictures Love Words on the Creative Ampersand website: http://www.creativeampersand.co.uk