The boy
got out of the building a little before eight o'clock. It was
already dark. The whole day had been hot and moist. Everybody
was waiting for the storm.
The yard was deserted at that time. The boy went straight to
the basket hung on the wall, with his ball in his hands. He
was tall, was maybe sixteen or seventeen. He wore a large white
T-shirt from the Chicago Bulls and a green baseball cap. His
shorts were black and his new Nike sport shoes had cost his
Mom a fortune.
The yard he used to play basketball was a parking lot. Only
half a dozen or so of cars were parked there. Many people
had left for the weekend. One of the last weekends before
the end of summer. A few enlightened in the building. Probably
some neighbors watching at the television. Probably his mother
as well.
During a few minutes, the only noise in the yard was the
sound of his ball hitting the floor regularly before being
thrown to the basket.
The boy had being playing for a little more than five minutes
when the rain began to fall. It was a strong, cool rain. When
he felt the water on his hands and his legs, he only raised
his head to the dark sky. The rain dropped on his face, but
it did not seem to bother him.
He just took his ball and started to play again. The rain
was really strong now, but he simply did not care. He was
in this parking lot to play basketball and nothing could prevent
him from playing. A couple of minutes after the storm started,
he was already totally wet.
A car parked and very soon, some people got out and ran to
the building, holding their bags over their heads to protect
themselves from the rain. The boy just kept playing, hitting
the ball on the ground with the same calm and slow rhythm.
A few minutes more, and another boy - who was probably the
same age - entered the parking lot, walking along the building
wall. His was almost dressed the same way, but his baseball
cap was red. The storm did not seem to bother him either.
He was close to the basketball player when an old blue van
rode suddenly into the yard and stopped beside to the newcomer.
Two men got out of the van and jumped on the boy. One of them
must have taken out a knife and hit the boy, because the second
after, he fell on the ground and did not get up anymore. Then,
the two men got into the van and drove away.
The boy lay on the ground, immobile. He had stopped breathing.
During all that time, the other boy had kept playing basketball.
The rain falling on his head, hitting his ball on the ground,
he had not even noticed the van, the boy or the two men who
had just killed him.
Perhaps a couple of minutes more, and his mother called him
from the window, up at the sixth floor. She had noticed the
rain and the cool air. The boy would have liked to stay out
but she demanded him to get in. He sighed, threw his ball
into the basket a last time and went into the building. On
the doorstep he met the neighbor, this big fat fellow who
lived on the third floor. He seemed to be worried...he got
out without a word and went straight to the boy who was lying
on the ground on the other side of the parking lot. A moment
after, the fat man cried for help.
The basketball kid stared at him, wondering
what was happening, but then he remembered his mother was
waiting for him upstairs. He entered the building with his
ball in his hands and shut the door behind him.
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