The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the workhouse, as Barron and Wilson completed their chores. They had been waiting for the evening, when the oppressive atmosphere of the workhouse would ease, and they could retreat to their secret sanctuary beneath the blankets, illuminated only by the soft glow of their makeshift lantern. It was during these moments that they could escape the grim reality of their lives, diving into the worlds found within the pages of the books Wilson had managed to acquire.
But that evening, as Barron approached the sleeping quarters, he sensed a tension in the air. The other boys were unusually quiet, their faces pale and taut with apprehension. Barron's heart raced as he pushed through the door, only to be met with a scene that shattered his world.
There stood the Master, a towering figure of authority, his face twisted in a mask of fury, as he loomed over Wilson. Barron's breath caught in his throat as he watched Wilson, defiant and brave, clutching a book tightly to his chest.
"Why can't I read at night after we slave all day?" Wilson had dared to ask, his voice steady despite the tremor of fear that danced beneath it. His question hung in the air, a challenge that ignited the Master's wrath. In an instant, the atmosphere shifted from tense anticipation to sheer chaos, as the Master flew into a vengeful stupor, his rage spilling over into violence.
Barron's heart raced as he rushed forward, desperate to intervene, but he was too late. The Master's hand connected with Wilson's face, sending him sprawling to the floor. Marcus's world blurred as the brutal beating continued, each strike a reminder of the cruelty that permeated their lives. Wilson lay on the cold floor, broken and bleeding, his spirit flickering like a candle in the wind. Barron held back by one of the faceless staff dressed in white as he seized with angry trying to reach his friend. A thirst for vengeance started to grow slowly inside him.
As the Master finally stormed out, leaving a wake of destruction behind him, Barron rushed to his best friend's side. Wilson was gasping for breath, his body trembling as he clung to the fragile threads of life. With a trembling hand, he grasped Barron's, his grip weak yet filled with warmth.
"Dexter…" Wilson whispered, his voice barely audible. "Remember… books are keys… they can set you free." His other hand, trembling with effort, slowly dragged across the floor, pointing toward the corner where a book had been kicked under a dresser during the chaos. With a smile Wilson looked into Barron's eyes knowing in his final moments he was not alone.
Tears streamed down Marcus's face, though he fought to suppress the screams of torment that clawed at his throat. The sight of his friend, once so vibrant and full of life, now lying broken, was unbearable. The other boys gathered around, their expressions a mixture of sorrow and disbelief, their hearts heavy with the weight of what they had just witnessed.
Amidst the despair, Barron felt the looming shadow of Marcus approach, his figure blocking out the light as he stepped closer. Barron could sense the tension between them, the animosity that had defined their relationship. Yet, in this moment of crisis, something shifted within Barron.
"Now's not the time, Marcus," he breathed, trying to quell the growing storm within him.
"Oh, but it is, Barron. It's finally time," Marcus replied, his voice low and steady. "Time for change."
With surprising gentleness, Marcus reached out, lifting Dexter to his feet. Their animosity faded as they became united in purpose, two enemies transformed into comrades by the bond of shared grief. Together, they gathered Wilson's frail body, lifting him with care, and walked as a horde toward the garden, climbing the hill that overlooked the grounds—a place where only the staff were permitted.
As they reached the crest of the hill, the boys formed a protective wall around Dexter and Owen. With determined hearts, they dug a hole in the earth, their hands moving with urgency and purpose. The somber atmosphere hung heavy, yet they felt a sense of solidarity in their shared loss. The staff seemed to feel a bit intimidated as the anger shown amongst the boys faces. So either out of fear or some other emotion unknown to them the staff seemed to just ignore the actions of horde. Once the hole was deep enough, they gently placed Wilson's body inside, covering him with soil as they said their silent goodbyes.
With trembling hands, they pounded a makeshift cross into the ground, a symbol of their love and remembrance. Dexter hung Wilson's glasses upon the cross, a tribute to the brilliant mind that had illuminated their dark existence. As they stood there, the children collectively remembered Wilson—a boy who had brought light into the shadows of their lives, who had taken them on adventures through stories of far-off lands, where no gates or fences existed, and where pirates roamed the seas in search of treasure sun on their faces and winds at their backs!
The memories flooded back—nights spent huddled beneath blankets, leaning in to hear Wilson's voice as he read tales of exploration and adventure, stories that allowed them to escape, if only for a moment, from the harsh realities of their lives. But now, that peace had been shattered, transforming former enemies into allies bound by a shared purpose. One small boy named Timmy stepped forward in front of the crowd shaking nervously as he had never spoken to any of the other children. He looked up at Barron and said "I'm sorry for your loss, you may not know but all of us would silently listen to your tales and stories with Wilson at night and for a short time we were free allowing our dreams to roam the lands as we fell into sleep during your nightly adventures. Wilson was your best friend but he was important to me and everyone else as well..".As the boys looked a bit stunned Marcus spit out "I didn't know you could speak" and a slight uproar of laughter came from the crowd helping to ease the pain in the hearts standing on the hill.
As they returned to the workhouse, Dexter slipped away from the group, his heart pounding with a mixture of grief and determination. As his head seemed to spin faster and faster his thoughts of every interaction between him and Wilson flashed across his eyes. Bammm, everything stopped heart slowed as he remembered Wilson's last words books are keys .. keys to freedom. The only thought in his mind as he sat in confusion trying to think of why he would say that when he could of said anything. Barron let lose a small chuckle as he thought about Wilson always talking in riddles with his massive brain. Wilson's intelligence shadowed everyone he had ever met. Then an image of Wilson his pitiful state flooded his mind slowly moving his arm as he spook those word as his finger pointed. Determined Barron's mind stilled and in the quiet of the empty room, he searched for the book Wilson had pointed to earlier. When he finally found it, hidden beneath the dresser, he opened it to discover two keys nestled inside the pages.
The book was a journal, Wilson's own, and the last page bore a message that sent chills down Marcus's spine: "Open these cages and fly. The time has come to feel freedom on my face. Tomorrow, me and Dexter will be free from here."
Tears streamed down Dexter's cheeks as he gazed at the words, knowing that Wilson had found his peace and freedom. In that moment, a fire ignited within him—a spark of vengeance and a fierce determination to live not just for himself, but for his best friend. He vowed to carry Wilson's memory with him, to ensure that the light his friend had brought into the darkness would never be extinguished.
With renewed purpose, Barron set his mind on vengeance against the cruelty that had taken his friend. He would fight not only for his own freedom but for the freedom of every boy still trapped within those walls. Each day, he would remember Wilson, feeling the wind on his face as if it were his friend's spirit urging him forward. The time for change had come, and Barron would be the one to lead the charge.