The boy stood atop the row of shooting games. Light on his feet, he followed the latest object of his fixation. He wasn’t trying especially hard to hide himself, but he wasn’t going out of his way to be seen, either.
The girl, not as young as he was, but still not an adult, stepped towards a blank wall. Weathering had chipped paint to show the grey stone underneath. She had black, rubbery a mask on. Not a costume mask, the boy would recognize a mascot if he saw one, but one like those odd masks that comic book characters wore. Like a ninja. Was she a ninja? He didn’t care if she was or wasn’t- he didn’t care for ninjas.
He cared for birds.
The girl shook her bottle of spray paint and looked the wall up and down. The boy lifted the binoculars to his face, his breath digging the air. She had painted a bird before. A beautiful bird, of dripping rainbow colors and sharp edges. Nothing in the amusement park had been that vibrant in years. He was immediately enraptured, hoping to see her produce another bird.
Much to his disappointment, the colors and lines began to sculpt into a raccoon. A raccoon of bright, contrasting yellow and neon greens, curled up around itself. He lost interest in it and stepped back, his worn shoes squeaking over the roof still slick with last night’s rain.
Her head snapped up and her eyes widened. The whites contrasted against her dark skin, and it reminded him of an owl. “Hey!” She raised a spray can as if it were a weapon.
Why was she so on edge? He was a kid, not a mascot. He was recognizable, unique, with his charcoal-stained winter coat and the binoculars around his neck. He wasn’t going to hurt her. Hadn’t she heard of him?
Him staring apparently put her on edge. “Hey! What are you doing, creep?” She yelled. She picked up a rock. He tilted his head. Her loud was unpleasant. Sharp like a morning dove’s, but somehow bad. Still, he stared at her, unable to guess why she was yelling at him.
She hurled the rock at him with the accuracy of a girl who played baseball, and it hit the boy right in the chest.
He squawked, eyes widening. He lost his footing on the roof and slipped onto his back with a sharp crack. Pain shot through his spine as the ridges of the roof dug into his back.
“That’s what you get, creep!” She snapped, but he’d stopped listening. He groaned, twisting around. Hands adorned in fingerless gloves clawed for purchase, slick with rainwater and mud. He found his footing, though, and stood up.
When he looked back over the street, she was gone.