Boy, 18, Missing 3 days.

In hindsight I realised that Tobias had probably been sleeping there all night. The soil, dry and loose like ashes, had crept into his hair and smeared itself chalklike down one side of his face; infantile, he lay curled in an impossible tangle of elongated limbs and crumpled clothing. As I approached he stirred from apparent hibernation, but from the mechanical theatricality of his somewhat convenient revival I deduced that he had been awake for some time, covertly enjoying my attention. Stretching, his smug eyes met mine in a horribly knowing fashion hastily converted to unconcern as he registered my irritation. I brandished a bread roll by way of greeting, and received a gracious invitation to sit by way of regal gestures not dissimilar to those offered by royal personages, and drunks. I felt as though by not conforming to the conventions of ordinary human transactions I had somehow pleased him; I was being offered a treat.

Disconcerted, I settled myself on the floor beside him, decomposing and crackling leaves piling up behind me as I pulled myself awkwardly back against the tree trunk. Tobias languidly reached for the roll and ate, meticulously tearing small pieces of soft white flesh from the inside whilst leaving the crust intact. The process was somewhat absorbing to watch and we spent the next few minutes in silence, both of us immersed in our own thoughts. Occasionally a leaf would drift down from the blazing canopy and Tobias’s attention would flicker, watching the leaf’s journey to join its companions on the mouldering floor with distracting intensity. I took these fleeting moments to furtively inspect him, avidly devouring each change of expression as they danced across his eyes and pulled mischievously at his obstinately immobile mouth. He looked more tired and uncertain than I had ever seen him, or rather less guarded. There was something tribal in the contrast between the dirty gossamer white of his skin and the stark, vivid green of his eyes, rimmed with a sick purple sheen like bruises. Soft fall light stained the frayed edges of his auburn hair crimson and gold, with one half plastered flat whilst the other defiantly thrust itself into the air. The overall effect was one of uncharacteristic yet strangely endearing dishevelment.

And yet there was something cruel in the smile that lingered on his small, cracked red mouth as he regarded me, desperate to break the silence that hung thick in the air between us. Intangible flurries of thought, possibilities ranged across my mind but all the while I was conscious of the impossibility of it all. Impossible not to just sit here, dizzyingly close. In the distance, a gunshot fired. Tobias leaned across, and gently pulled the scarf from my throat. It scratched roughly against my stubble as he loomed closer, overwhelming my immediate area with his personal aroma of stale aftershave, spice and brandy; having pulled the scarf clear he withdrew swiftly to a safe distance. Tobias wrapped the scarf tightly around his own bloodless neck and walked out into the light.

By Kirsty Judge