Niyah Newill

Jason Newill

Oğuz Koyun

English

He kept walking down the alleyway. Messy hair that's put in a half up, half down hair style, always looking tired given the dark circles under his eyes. His name was Axel. He seems to be in search for something. Or maybe someone?

Trash bins litter the rear exit walls of each building, with half the trash tied up in bags sitting on the ground. He hand grips the picture in his pocket, worn and dirty from years of handling. He sees a dirty ankle and rushed forward to see it it was them. No, false alarm.

“Not again,” he muttered to himself, yet his eyes kept scanning the crowd—for a gait, a glance, even a shoelace that might give them away

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