Cracks of the Chains

The morning sunlight did nothing to warm him.

Ron walked through the school gates, his bag slung over one shoulder, each step heavier than the last. The chatter of students filled the air—some laughing, some gossiping, some chasing each other across the courtyard.

He walked among them, but never with them.

A shadow passing through sunlight. A ghost wearing a uniform.

His eyes remained low, avoiding glances. His shoulders curled inward as though trying to shrink, to disappear.

It didn't work.

"Hey, doc boy!"

The voice shot across the courtyard like a whip.

Ron froze.

A group stood by the lockers—five of them, laughing, pointing. At the center stood Darren. Tall, broad-shouldered, a sneer carved permanently into his face.

Ron's stomach twisted. He tried to keep walking.

Footsteps followed.

Darren's hand landed hard on his shoulder. "Where you going, doc boy? You think you're better than us, huh?"

"No," Ron murmured. "I just—"

A shove. His books spilled across the pavement.

"I just what?" Darren leaned close, his breath hot and sour. "Just too smart to talk to us? Or just too scared?"

The others laughed.

Ron crouched, picking up his books, willing his hands not to shake. He kept his eyes down.

"Aw, look at him. Can't even fight back."

"Bet he cries to mommy every night."

Ron stood, swallowing hard. "I'm going to class."

"Not so fast." Darren stepped in front of him. "We're not done here."

The bell rang in the distance.

Teachers would be inside.

Ron hesitated, then tightened his grip on his books. "I'll tell the teacher."

The laughter stopped.

Darren's smile faded—not into fear, but something colder. He leaned back, cracking his neck.

"You're gonna… tell?" His voice dropped. "You think that's gonna save you?"

The other boys stepped closer, circling.

Ron's breath quickened.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Darren's tone softened, almost pitying. "We own this place."

Ron frowned. "You don't own anything."

"Wrong." Darren's eyes narrowed. "My uncle's on the school board. My cousin's the city councilman's kid. You think they'll listen to you?"

A fist collided with Ron's stomach.

He doubled over, choking on his breath.

The books fell again.

"They'll cover it up," Darren said casually, shaking his hand. "They always do."

Another kick sent Ron sprawling across the pavement.

The world blurred, swimming in pain and humiliation. Voices rang around him, mocking, laughing. A distant part of him wondered how many students saw—and turned away.

How many just watched?

A boot pressed against his ribs.

"You stay quiet, doc boy," Darren said. "Stay in your little cage. It's safer for you there."

The foot lifted.

The group began to walk away.

But something… shifted.

Inside him.

A tiny crack.

A hairline fracture in the chains wrapped around his chest.

Ron coughed, pushing himself up slowly. His hand trembled as he wiped blood from his lip.

He stared at their retreating backs.

The laughter. The arrogance. The power they wielded—not from strength, but from connections. From invisible chains passed down from fathers, uncles, names he couldn't fight.

You stay quiet.

He'd been quiet.

Obedient.

Invisible.

And it never saved him.

Ron's nails dug into his palm until they drew blood.

Something inside him… snapped.

The fracture deepened.

"Hey, Darren."

The voice was hoarse.

But it carried.

The group paused.

Darren turned, eyebrows raised. "You got something to say?"

Ron rose to his feet.

Chest heaving.

Eyes burning.

For the first time, he looked directly at them.

"No more," Ron whispered.

Darren laughed. "What?"

"No more," Ron said louder. "No more running. No more staying quiet."

The crack spread.

Somewhere deep in his mind, a sound echoed—a low groaning of metal under strain.

The others exchanged glances, amused.

"Oh?" Darren grinned, strolling back. "You gonna hit me, doc boy?"

Ron's fists clenched.

The chains in his dream—the ones wrapped around his soul—shuddered violently.

"No," Ron whispered.

And then he moved.

The punch wasn't clean. It wasn't fast. It wasn't practiced.

But it landed.

Square across Darren's jaw.

Time seemed to freeze.

The other boys stared, stunned.

Darren stumbled back, his hand flying to his face, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You little—"

He lunged.

Ron ducked.

Instinct. Not skill.

He threw another punch, clumsy but desperate.

It connected again.

Darren staggered.

The others recovered, shouting, rushing forward.

Ron braced for the beating.

But for the first time in his life, he wasn't curled up on the ground.

He was standing.

Fighting.

Even if he lost.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it ended with him bloody and broken.

He was no longer quiet.

The chains groaned louder.

Cracks spiderwebbed through them.

And somewhere deep inside, something stirred.

A pulse.

A flicker of light.

The beginning of an awakening he couldn't name.

Not yet.

But soon.

As fists rained down, as boots kicked, as the world blurred again into pain and noise—

Ron smiled.

A bitter, defiant smile.

Because the cage had cracked.

And one day…

It would break.