the boy who ran away

the boy who ran away

In a small town named 'near the school,' everyone knew one rule: never skip class. People whispered that anyone who bailed on school simply vanished, but no one talked about why.

Wanascape hated school with a burning passion. He thought homework was pointless, teachers were boring, and grades were just numbers adults used to boss kids around.

One gray Tuesday, he snapped. Instead of going to class, he grabbed his bike and sped down the empty streets, feeling a wild rush of freedom.

As he passed the school, he noticed something weird. The playground was silent, yet a delivery truck stood by the back door, its engine humming low.

Curious, Wanascape hid his bike and crept closer. Through a cracked basement window, he saw teachers standing in a circle around cages—cages full of scared students.

His math teacher held a clipboard covered in grades. 'Highest scores first,' she said coldly. 'Their brains are the ripest.'

From the shadows, pale, twisted monsters shuffled forward, drooling. Wanascape’s stomach flipped as he realized the truth: grades weren’t about learning—they were a price tag.

A floorboard creaked under Wanascape’s foot. Every head snapped toward the window, human and monster eyes locking onto him.

‘New product,’ the principal said with a smile that wasn’t human at all. 'Low grades, but we can fix that.'

Wanascape stumbled back, heart pounding, and ran for his bike. Behind him, the school doors burst open, footsteps and claws scraping the pavement.

As he pedaled for his life, he realized the cruelest part of the secret. Skipping school didn’t make kids vanish—their own teachers did.

Wanascape knew he couldn’t go home, couldn’t go back. But as the town siren began to wail, he made himself a promise: he would expose them, or disappear trying.

Some say, on test days, you can still see a boy on a bike racing past the school. If you ever meet Wanascape, remember—your grade might be worth more than you think.