THE BOY AND THE SUN

** Chicago (USA), 2074**

The group of teenagers burst out laughing, stamping their feet and clapping their hands, standing around Jeremy like around a campfire. They're not making fun of him this time, no. They're congratulating him for their victory thanks to him, Jeremy, the blind child of the ancestor people. The sixteen- or seventeen-year-old teenager smiles stupidly, too focused on the hubbub that his peers are making to let himself go too. Young teenagers like him usually hardly get any attention, let alone attention of that kind. Jeremy is unique and fearless. He lost his fear with his eyesight when he was a child because he has always wanted it that way. At this moment when he is being acclaimed by his peers, the world finally sees him through his own eyes.

Soon, Jeremy gets overwhelmed by the joyful cacophony. He feels dizzy from the noise of the group of teenagers and the heat coming from their young bodies. He feels them close to him, very close. Their body heat burns just like the heat of the sun...

** Chicago (USA), 2063 **

A four- or five-year-old boy is watching curiously at his mother clinging onto her phone as she tossed and turned while listening intently to the person on the other end of the device. She was anxious, the small child could tell, just by looking at his mother. She didn't like what she was being told, but she had to bear it and keep listening. The little boy's gaze swept around the room, looking for something more entertaining than watching his mother. The glass door! His mother always forbade him to go anywhere near it "because of the sun". The sun! The marvel in primary colours, far above in the sky that brought so much joy and mystery to his drawings. At school, he had learnt that without the sun there could be no life or colour on Earth. Yet, adults feared it so much. 

The boy kept his gaze fixed on his mother waiting for the moment when she would turn her back so that he could reach out to the glass door; the sun. Lost in her conversation, the woman turned her back to the glass door and her son for a few seconds. The little boy seized the opportunity to move slowly towards the light outside. To his surprise, the glass door wasn't locked. Like everywhere else those days, at school, in the shops, his mother always kept all the doors and windows locked, but not that day.

The sun! 

In an instant, an intoxicating warmth surrounded him. First, pleasant like his hot chocolate in the morning, then very quickly burning, unbearable. The little boy felt like a club falling on his head and a supernatural force pushing him onto the ground. His body, weighed down by an intolerable pain, suddenly collapsed as a dark veil covered his face. He knew he had to scream at that moment otherwise the sun would gulp him all down. However, no sound came out of his mouth as he tried to move his lips.

"Jeremy!" His mother's voice cried out before he passed out.

** Chicago (USA), 2074 **

"Thanks! Thank you! Thank you!" Jeremy screams, pushing his way with his hand and his cane through the small group of teenagers. Finally, he can breathe. Jeremy smiles. His life is a revenge, one possibility among so many like his doctor often told him.

** Chicago (USA), 2065 **

"Ms. Ridley, you should be proud of your boy," the dark-skinned man dressed in a white scrub said. In his left hand, he held a syringe while in the other hand he held the skinny little arm of the seven-year-old boy sitting in front of him.

The woman gave the doctor a timid smile without saying anything, then looked down again at her hands folded on her thighs. The silence of the woman annoyed the doctor who looked alternately at the mother and the boy before gently putting the syringe in the tray to sit down facing the boy. 

"Jeremy," he began with a broad smile.

The boy turned to the doctor, his head slightly raised towards the ceiling. The child was listening, intently and curiously, his eyelids and lips shut.

"Do you want to see something?" The doctor continued mischievously.

"To see ?!" The boy repeated, amused.

The doctor lifted his right trouser leg to roll it to the level of his knee. The boy's mother remained in shock as the doctor gently grabbed Jeremy's hand to bring it to his bare leg.

"Do you have a prosthetic leg?" The boy asked, opening his mouth wide. "Can you run very very fast now?" He continued enthusiastically.

"Not that running very very fast is a quality in a hospital, but yes Jeremy, I have a prosthetic leg. I was around your age when I lost my right leg during a war in my home country. I know the smell of blood and burnt human flesh."

Hearing these words, the little boy's face turned serious and sad.

"I was 38 when I was finally able to afford this prosthesis; I lived the majority of my young years with only one leg," continued the doctor with a smile. "You see Jeremy, there are so many possibilities in life, and not just for men. Don't let any life situation decide for you what possibilities can or cannot happen in your life." 

The doctor paused for a moment to glance at Jeremy's mother before continuing:

"There are always a multitude of possibilities, no matter the situation."

Jeremy remained silent for awhile seemingly in deep reflection before speaking again to his doctor:

"Doctor, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," replied the doctor, sitting up in his seat.

"Are you Black?" Jeremy said shyly.

The doctor burst out laughing. He crossed his arms over his chest to look at the boy, laughing some more before answering calmly:

"You see Jeremy, I grew up with people's dismissive look on my missing leg and my dark skin to eventually grow old in a world where all limbs of the human body can be replaced with prosthesis and having dark skin has become... How can I put it? .... A very good thing. Yes, I'm Black. And how did you find that out?"

"Your accent sounds like my school teacher's accent, and she's Black too." She taught me how to read Braille. She says the more languages ​​I know, the more I'll continue to learn when I grow up," the boy replied proudly as he sat up in his seat grinning.

"Oh! Your school teacher's right!" The doctor said with a chuckle as Jeremy started chuckling. "And I see that you're very observant through listening and touching, and you can see through people's appearances as well," the doctor continued, smiling at the boy before adding: "These are great qualities Jeremy, and not everyone has them, especially in a world like ours." 

The doctor turned again to the boy's mother and said with a smile: 

"Ms. Ridley, you should be proud of your boy."

The woman nodded, giving the doctor a grateful look before turning her motherly gaze to her son as she exclaimed with a smile: "Oh yes, I'm very proud of my little boy."

Since the incident that had taken away her boy's eyesight, the woman felt the daggers of guilt in her chest every single day. Each time her blind son's gaze no longer reflected her sighted mother's gaze, she felt the original bond that united them fading away. He had always been the most precious jewel in her life and he had only her to survive until he became a man. She had cried a lot after being told that day: "Madam, your son's survived. His condition's stable now. Fortunately, you acted quickly and we'll be able to reconstruct the skin of his face, chest, and arms. But...I'm sorry...your son will never be able to see again."

The mother's cry of guilt was so deep and piercing that it invaded the whole building, then came the tears like torrential rains, followed by total darkness. Silence, guilt, shame, and the judgement of other mothers and their sighted children. She was constantly being told on the news those days, in the media, everywhere, that her child could never be successful in this world since the discovery of a stupid gene. Why did she always do everything wrong? What could she reply if ever one day at school, in the supermarket, or on the street waiting for the green light, another mother asked her the question as to why her son couldn't see like "other normal" children?

THE GAME

** Chicago (USA), 2074 ** 

"Hey, Jeremy! Where are you going now?" A male voice shouted behind him. It's his best friend, Malik, a dark-skinned teenager his age. 

"The other guys want to go to the shopping centre, I'm going too. Do you want to come?" Malik continues.

"Why not," Jeremy says, taking a few steps towards Malik's voice. The teenager comes closer to his friend allowing Jeremy to follow suit. 

It has always been like that between the two friends, like on the rink, when they first played together. Jeremy may not be able to see with his eyes like Malik and most sighted people, but he can see with his hands and ears instead. Sounds, vibrations, sensations are his sight. However, Jeremy also has another specialty, even for someone with his condition: he is extremely sensitive to body heat. He can identify it and track it down like a predator. Malik has always wondered how his friend can do that. On the rink, the pair is remarkable: strength, agility, warmth, complicity and intuition.

When the two teenagers join the group at the shopping centre, Malik receives a text message telling him to go to the eighth floor for a "very special game". Nobody usually goes to the eighth floor unless they want to admire the view of the shopping centre from the high walkways.

"Hey, Yellow Hair!" The voice of a teenager calls out as Jeremy and Malik come out of the lift. A group of five other teenagers stand in front of them defiantly. 

Jeremy recognises the voice of the individual and without saying a word, he starts walking towards the group at Malik's pace. Many call him Yellow Hair. He doesn't like that name. Some call him the Blind; he doesn't like that name either. However, he grew up to understand that some people have the privilege of choosing their own name as well as the name for everyone else. For everyone else on the other hand, they have to take on whichever name has been chosen for them.

"Do you think you can run to the other end of the high catwalks?" The voice continues mockingly.

" What's that question for?" Malik retorts as Jeremy gently puts a hand on his friend's arm.

"Take me to the high catwalks," Jeremy says.

" Which one? There are several of them," Malik replies, turning to his friend.

"The one that could be the same length as a rink."

"You're not going to play their stupid game and get hurt!" Malik exclaims, staring at Jeremy.

"No, but I want to play my game," the teenager replies with a smirk. 

Malik knows Jeremy well. Indeed, his friend is fearless, and yes, running across an empty catwalk on the eighth floor of a shopping centre definitely sounds like one of Jeremy's games. Malik turns around to look for a catwalk that could be as long as a rink.

"Do you want the distance in length, width, or circumference?" Malik asks reluctantly.

"Are the catwalks all flat and in straight lines?" Jeremy asks seriously.

"Straight lines, yes, but they're curvy as well, a bit like flying dragons," 

"Okay, so the distance is even longer than what you can see," Jeremy says, thinking for a moment before adding: "The distance in length, please, but remember that the distance is going to be longer than what you see."

Malik turns around again to assess the four catwalks intertwining above the air, the people coming and going, looking so small and insignificant at his feet. It is difficult for him at this moment to appreciate the fact that all these people seen from so high up, seemingly so small and insignificant, have actually the same size, the same features, and the same humanity as him.

"This should do," Malik finally declares aloud, addressing Jeremy. He walks towards him before directing him closer to the edge of the catwalk.

"Are there any obstacles on the catwalk?"

"Nope."

"How about on the other side?"

"If you run too far too fast and you don't stop in time, you can smash your head against the lift." Malik says seriously in a reprimanding tone.

"Are there people walking on the catwalk?" Jeremy asks seriously.

"Nope, no one," Malik says, shaking his head.

"No walls?" Jeremy keeps questioning.

"No walls," Malik confirms, nodding.

"No ramps?"

"No ramps, either."

Jeremy slowly walks towards the edge of the catwalk to squats down and estimate the width with his hands. Then, he stands back up and begins to do the same with his feet.

"Straight line, curve, approximate length of a rink, no obstacles, correct?" He asks Malik again, standing next to him.

"No obstacle except the lift waiting for you at the end of the line." Malik replies seriously.

"What if you waited for me at the other end?" Jeremy retorts to Malik, turning his face towards him. "You could tell me when to slow down to stop," Jeremy continues calmly.

"That's a good idea," Malik smiles, admiring his friend's ingenuity.

"Hey... No, that's not in the rules!" "The teenager's voice says behind them. Until now, he and his friends have been observing the scene, amused, and perplexed.

"Shup up Isaac! It's my game now! But you're welcome to watch me play if you want." Jeremy says sarcastically before nodding at Malik instructing him to go to the other end of the catwalk.

"Take my cane too and tell me when you're there," Jeremy adds, extending his cane towards the catwalk when he hears Malik's familiar footsteps stepping on it.

" Yes sir!" Malik says, turning to grab the cane before heading back to the catwalk. He has always admired Jeremy's audacity. 

Audacity feels so unfamiliar to Malik. Jeremy's audacity has always reminded him of the stories of rebellions and fights for justice of people of his skin colour long before he was even born. In his position these days, which is very different from theirs, and by the mere fact of the same skin that made them the heirs of human misery, he is unable to identify with audacity like Jeremy does. Today, Malik no longer needs audacity to make his way into the world of others, nor to prove anything to anyone. Everything is normally due to him, with some effort of course, but not as much as Jeremy.

"I'm there!" Malik shouts from the other end of the catwalk.

His friend's voice confirms to Jeremy that Malik has correctly estimated the distance from the footbridge. He assesses his position in relation to the catwalk using his feet one more time. He stops for a moment to listen carefully to the impatient group of teenagers behind him as well as the hubbub of the people crowding at his feet. The air conditioning in the shopping centre is cooler on the eighth floor. Straight line, curve, approximate length of a rink, no obstacles in the distance, reasonable width for someone of his build, but there is no wall or ramp to hold him back if he ever swings a few centimetres too much. Running straight; he has to run straight along a line he can't see and his friend on the other side will tell him when to slow down. However, he will have to be careful not to slow down too suddenly otherwise he might lose his balance.

Jeremy takes a few deep breaths. Once, twice, three times and....

The teenager starts running on the catwalk; straight line, curve, approximate length of a rink, no obstacles in the distance, reasonable width for someone of his build, but there is no wall or ramp to hold him back if he ever sways a few centimetres too much.

"Jeremy, slow down!" The teenager hears Malik's voice say ahead of him.

Jeremy knows the distance still isn't short enough for him to slow down without swaying, so he continues to run at the same pace.

"Jeremy, slow down, I'm telling you to slow down!" Malik's voice comes out again in front of Jeremy. Still too soon.

"Jeremy!" Malik shouts.

"Now," Jeremy thought, suddenly slowing down. As he suspected, he immediately loses his balance. He feels his body sway, but he doesn't know where he is or in which direction to go to avoid a fall. Even before he makes a decision for himself, he feels Malik's strong hands grab his arm, pulling his friend towards him.

"Got you!" Malik says, bursting out laughing in Jeremy's ears. The teenager is still disoriented and out of breath.

"I need to sit down," Jeremy gasped.

Malik guides his friend towards a bench, still laughing at the top of his lungs.