The morning sun spilled across the bustling streets, painting them in a warm glow that contrasted the daily struggles of the people. A boy named Maicon Clement, just fifteen years old, walked steadily down the road on his way to school. His life was simple, modest, and sometimes harsh, but he carried himself with quiet resilience. He lived with his mother, who worked hard to keep them afloat. Their lives weren't grand, but they made do.
As Maicon threaded his way through the busy street, he couldn't help but notice the world around him: men and women rushing to their jobs, shopkeepers lifting their shutters, and children clinging to their parents. Each person seemed to be caught up in their own battle to survive.
Just ahead, he noticed a little girl, tears streaming down her cheeks, staring sadly at the ground. Her ice pop had fallen and melted into a sticky puddle. Maicon stopped, crouched down, and gently patted her head.
"C'mon now, don't cry," he said softly, offering a small smile. "Here, I have some coins. You can get another one."
The girl blinked at him, confused. She didn't say anything, but her tears slowed. Maicon stood and continued on his way.
The street grew livelier as he walked. A commotion caught his attention—two police officers sprinted down the road, chasing after a thief. Maicon paused, watching them with wide eyes. For a moment, he drifted into a daydream: he imagined himself in a police uniform, sprinting after criminals, serving justice. It was his childhood dream—to be a police officer, to protect others.
But the fantasy shattered when a passerby bumped into him hard, nearly knocking him over.
"Move it, lad!" the man barked before striding off.
Maicon shook his head, snapping back to reality. He resumed his walk, this time quickening his pace as he realized the time. Soon, the old school building came into view. On top of the structure, the weathered sign read: Normal Academy. It wasn't much of a school, but it was where his life unfolded each day.
He broke into a run, spotting the familiar figure of the school guard.
"Good morning, Guard Roger!" Maicon greeted cheerfully.
Roger frowned. "You're late again, Maicon."
"I know, I know," Maicon muttered, dashing inside. He hurried through the hallways until he burst into his classroom.
"Good morning, everyone!" he announced breathlessly. But the teacher's sharp gaze froze him in place.
"You are late again, Maicon," the teacher scolded.
"I—I'm very sorry, sir." He bowed his head and slid into his seat. The boys seated nearby shot him looks of disgust, their expressions twisted with disdain. Maicon lowered his eyes, pretending not to notice.
The day dragged on. When morning classes ended, Maicon climbed up to the rooftop—his sanctuary. The breeze was gentle, the view calming. He sat down, closed his eyes, and let his imagination take flight once more. In his mind, he was chasing criminals again, running with courage and strength he longed for.
But his peace didn't last. Four boys—his classmates, notorious for picking on him—appeared, their sneers cutting through the silence.
"Hey! Poor kid!" one of them jeered. "Daydreaming again?"
Maicon forced a smile. "Hey, guys. Yeah, just using my free time."
"Well, our free time," another sneered, "is to bully you."
They surrounded him. Pushing, hitting, mocking. Maicon tried to shield himself, but four against one was hopeless. Their laughter echoed across the rooftop until a familiar voice thundered.
"Stop that, you brats!"
It was Guard Roger. The bullies scattered instantly, fleeing down the stairs. Roger rushed to Maicon's side. The boy was badly beaten, struggling even to stand.
"Are you okay, Maicon?" Roger asked, worry etched on his face.
"Yes… this is nothing," Maicon forced out, though his body trembled. He swayed, barely able to keep his balance. "I need to go now, Roger. I have a class to catch up."
Roger wanted to stop him, but all he could do was watch with concern as Maicon stumbled back to class.
The rest of the day passed in the same rhythm of scolding and quiet endurance. When the final bell rang, Maicon walked home, his mind heavy with thoughts—stereotypes, cruelty, injustice. The world seemed so unfair.
Halfway home, a police officer blocked his path. Beside him stood a lady, pointing accusingly.
"Hey, kid! This lady says you stole her purse!" the officer barked.
Maicon's eyes widened. "Huh!? No, sir! I'm just walking home from school."
"From school?" the lady scoffed, her voice dripping with contempt. "Look at yourself. You're a mess! I don't believe you're a student."
Before Maicon could defend himself further, the officer's fist slammed into his face. He collapsed onto the ground, pain exploding through him.
"You deserve that! Don't lie to a police officer," the man spat.
Curled on the ground, Maicon could only clutch his stomach. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the officer mutter: "There was no purse on him."
But neither he nor the woman cared. They walked away quickly, leaving the boy bruised and humiliated on the street.
Slowly, Maicon stood, dusting off his clothes. He forced a smile onto his face, though his heart ached. Then he continued home.
Their small house stood between two larger buildings, weathered and old. Before entering, Maicon paused, fixing himself up, hiding the evidence of his pain behind a practiced smile. He stepped inside.
"I am home, Mother," he called warmly. His eyes drifted to a corner of the house, where a half-faded photograph sat. The man's face was obscured by shadow. Maicon bowed slightly. "I am home, Father."
From the kitchen, his mother's tired voice answered, "How was your day, son?"
"Just another great day, Mother," he lied gently.
"Go on now, eat your dinner. I'm sorry… I was only able to secure dried fish."
Maicon grinned. "That's okay, Mom. It's my favorite."
His mother smiled faintly. As he sat to eat, he called, "Mom, come join me!"
"I've already eaten, Maicon."
But in truth, she hadn't. She had saved what little food they had for him.
The fragile peace of their home was shattered by furious banging at the door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
His mother rushed to answer. "Who is it?" she asked nervously.
A sharp female voice replied, "It's me!"
Maicon leaned from the table, spotting a lady outside, accompanied by a large, intimidating man.
The woman's expression was cold. "Your debt has reached its due already. I'm not running a charity."
"I know," Maicon's mother pleaded. "Please, give us more time. I promise we'll pay—with interest."
"Promise? You haven't paid even once!" The lady's lips curled cruelly. "You and your bastard child should sleep in the streets."
His mother fell to her knees, begging. "Please, ma'am! Just a little more time!"
The large man sneered and struck her hard across the face. She collapsed, limp on the floor.
"HEY!" Maicon shouted, rushing to his mother's side. "Don't you dare hurt my mother!"
The lady laughed coldly. "And what are you going to do, boy?"
Maicon's fists clenched, but his trembling hands betrayed his helplessness. He knew he couldn't fight them.
"Make sure you leave tonight," the lady warned, turning away.
Maicon held his mother, whispering, "Are you okay, Mother?"
"Yes, son," she forced a smile. "Don't worry."
But moments later, she collapsed again, unconscious. Panic surged through Maicon as he carried her, running desperately through the streets, shouting for help. People turned away. No one dared to intervene.
At last, he stumbled into a local hospital. "Someone, please help me! Please!" he cried.
The nurses only stared at him with disgust, unmoving. Rage filled the air when a doctor entered.
"NURSES!" the doctor thundered. "Help them! Why are you just standing there?!"
The nurses scrambled to obey.
Hours later, his mother opened her eyes to see Maicon at her side.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
"In the hospital, Mother. You passed out."
"What? We cannot afford this!"
"Don't worry. I'll find a way. For now, rest," Maicon reassured her. He stepped out of the room, determination written on his face.
But as he neared home, his heart sank. He saw the large man from before, throwing their belongings out onto the street.
"Hey! Please don't do that!" Maicon shouted, his voice breaking. "My mother was admitted to the hospital because of what you did to her!"
The man shrugged, his bulk towering over Maicon like a wall. His voice was dismissive, cruel. "I don't care. Stay out of my way, boy. Your whining doesn't change anything. This street isn't yours, your home isn't yours, and soon you'll be nothing but a stray mutt sleeping on the pavement. Move aside before I decide to teach you a lesson."
Maicon's fists clenched tighter. This time, anger burned hotter than fear. He lunged forward, swinging at the man with everything he had. His fist connected—but it did little more than make the man flinch.
The big guy's eyes narrowed. "You asked for it, kid."