A road is lit by the solitary yellow glare of a streetlight and a boy of about twelve is illuminated sat on a low wall by the road, his breath made visible in the cold air.

Footsteps echo and a white light rounds a corner followed by a policeman holding a torch. The policeman is on the opposite pavement whistling quietly through his teeth. Seeing the boy, the policeman stops whistling and crosses the road with care. The two nod politely as strangers sit beside one another, the torch between them, for some time.

“Hi” says the policeman. The boy nods politely as before. “Cold” says the policeman. Another polite nod. The policeman offers up a sandwich produced from his pocket which, after the boys polite refusal-a shake of the head-is replaced the snack in his pocket.

“I’m a policeman” says our policeman after a pause, and in order to prevent another one hastily continues, “Not an easy job y’know. Oh no not easy at all” he turns to face the silent figure beside him for the first time but the action is not mirrored.

“Yeah…I’ve been in the service for fifteen years now. Fifteen! God knows how I’ve have coped-excuse my blasphemy”. He turns to look at the boy who, as ever, is still but for the steam spilling from his nostrils. “I remember when I was your age you know. I used to always watch the policemen’s parades back then! Aw it all seemed so nice then. So peaceful y’know? Calm.

“T’s not like that now though. Oh no…y’know I’m thinking of retiring. It’s too dangerous these days. You don’t know if your going to arrest a madman. And they say half these drunken teens carry knifes now as well! Terrible. I tell you it’s far more dangerous now that in the old days, and I don’t mind telling you i get scared.”

The silence is broken eventually by the smash of glass in the distance and the shouts of unseen drunks exiting a pub. There is a long pause before the policeman remembers himself, “Ha, still…Your not interested in that are you?” He laughs distantly to himself and stands muttering, “Duty calls”. As he exits the yellow circle of light the boy speaks for the first time.

“Your torch.”

“Oh silly me!” Says the policeman, stumbling blindly back into the light, pleased, if nothing else, that the boy finally spoke. As his eyes adjust to the brightness, he sees his torch sat on the empty wall.

The boy is gone and never was.