The Ballad of a Young American School Boy (3 Minute Fiction)

I sit, reading on the park bench I visit frequently during the fall. The breeze is warmed by the sun, which compliments the red and orange hues of the dying trees in late October. The grass is still soft, though I know that it will soon die as well. I see the same faces I do everyday, trudging along to school, carrying their backpacks overly stuffed with books and papers. Ungrateful, almost, for the education that is selflessly laid out for them. Among those who slowly drag on, one boy has always stuck out to me. His eager face and quickened steps show a different kind of student. His shoes are worn out, having to walk to his small public school house about 5 miles across town. His sneakers, once white, are now marked with dirt and scuffs. His backpack is forced closed with a great deal of books, and yet he still needs to carry some in his hands, showing his obvious love of knowledge and learning, despite his walk and financial status. The private school kids walking beside him seem not to pick up on that, for they pick on him for being poor and young. Though his face expression turns to one of discontent, he walks on, hope in his eyes and determination in his stride. I can't help but to think that those with more priviledges are too spoiled to see the value in the opportunities they are given. Sometimes it takes having nothing at all to realize what simple things are worth.