Peter Cho strolled down an empty street. He found comfort in the solitude. Recently his life had been an endless barrage of questions, decisions he could not make.

“But with results like yours, you could do anything son.” His father’s puzzled face. “What about astrophysics? Your teachers, they all say…”

“Leave the boy alone.” His mother’s worried voice.

His friends hounded him about girls. “Why don’t you get a girlfriend, man? You’re always so alone. Some female action will do you good.” Philip was always concerned with girls, Peter wasn’t. All the girls he met were too interested in the Kardashians or who won Idols. Peter was indifferent to their pitiful attempts at being cool. They were pathetic sheep and their bleating was too loud.

He needed to be somewhere quiet, away from everything. The ad in the local newspaper had been a godsend. So here he was, in Mitchells Plain, house-sitting for some bored couple who had decided to get away from the charms of suburban bliss. And it was bliss. The house was fully equipped for a teenager who had just finished school. It had motorised gates, heated flooring and an ice-maker in the fridge for lonely nightcaps.

Peter wandered aimlessly, his shoulders hunched, trying to ignore the cold wind knifing through his thin hoodie. ‘Mind above body’. That’s what the years at the dojo had taught him, and patience, and vigilance. Scoring eight As for Matric, and learning ju-jitsu, were the only parts of his high school career he’d really enjoyed. When it came to the other stuff, the more he learned, the more pointless it all seemed. And now that his secondary education was completed, he floated in limbo. Above him were the expectations of his parents, and below was his faith, slowly dwindling as he realised the vast emptiness of the universe. His cynicism stretched to all aspects of his life.

Sound suddenly jangled on the night air. His cellphone.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Peter. It’s Mr Wilson. Any trouble so far?”

“No. Everything is fine. You have a wonderful home.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. Just to remind you of the ground rules: no friends in the house and no using the telephone. But I’m sure you have plenty of airtime?”

“Yes, Mr Wilson.”

“Another thing. If you need any help, call our neighbour, Mrs Pryce. She has also agreed to check in every few days.”

“OK, thanks Mr Wilson. Enjoy your holiday.”

Peter checked his airtime and slid his phone into his pocket. A new reason to hate his life. No airtime for the next week. He did not want to ask his parents for money. They’d give it to him, but he’d be made to feel guilty. He had to find a job, he knew that. Something to keep him occupied while he did some soul-searching. But as far as he could tell his soul was somewhere hidden among the stars. He looked up, but he could only see clouds, shrouding the full moon.

Just ahead of him a small park spanned the block. Two lonely swings and a slide. It was a depressing sight for anyone older than five. He crossed through it, remembering the name of the road it was on. He didn’t want to get lost on his first night in the area. The frost on the grass crunched under his feet. As he stepped onto the blackness of the tar road, a flash of movement caught his eye. A figure was running towards him.

Whoever it was ran with a rhythm tuned to desperation. Peter watched as the runner came closer. His breath quickened, sending small puffs of vapour onto the freezing air. The figure was a few metres away. A girl. She was beautiful, but filthy. Her feet were bare, her jeans were torn and her hair was a mess.

Peter measured up the girl. She looked like trouble. He didn’t know what to do. “What if she’s luring me into some kind of trap?” he thought. He took her measure again once she was up close, looked in her eyes and noticed how scared she looked. He shrugged off his suspicions. This girl needed his help.

Peter struggled for words, squeezed a few out: “Are you OK?”

***

Tell us what you think: Do you think Peter should help the girl?