The dark haired boy sauntered down the empty street. He arrived in the square at exactly five o'clock. It was already filled with people ready to watch the debate.

No one would notice him standing off to the side, alone.

No one would remember his appearance, or even his presence at the square.

No one would recall seeing the teenage boy pull out a gun.

They wouldn't see him take aim, pull the trigger.

They wouldn't remember which direction the bullets came from.

No one would watch the boy, a solitary figure, walk away from the chaos of the shooting.

They would never know who was responsible.

All they would remember was their salvation, their hero. A streak of navy blue, knocking the bullets out of the air. They would wonder about who the gunman was. And they would praise the hero.

The hero wouldn't remember either.

So no one would know about the boy with the gun.

Dedicated to