Cowering in the hidden corner of his mental sanctuary, the little boy rocks back and forth, prayers escaping his shivering lips. The door to the outside world shudders with each blow from the demon trying to enter. With each shattering rap against the oak, the boy feels the headache seed inside him grow and thrive. Desperately the boy shoves his clenched fists to his ears, hoping to block out the tribal war beats that ensure his demise. Salvation never comes; instead a new noise arises from the pits. The sound of the oak groaning, letting the child know it has let him down, and it is about to give up. The boy’s eyes grow wide in fear, and a primitive wild look covers his face. Panicking the boy struggles to his feet and throws his meager weight against the door. He is just a small child, and that weight is nothing to the raw power of what lies beyond. Sweat flows freely down the boys face, and soon it becomes impossible to distinguish between tears and sweat. Splinters began cracking off on the door, flying off like daggers, slicing deep grooves into the boy’s drenched face. The boy cries out in pain and he is answered by a guttural growl. Shocked, the boy takes a costly step backwards. Until that point the child had believed what he was going against go perhaps be just a cruel trick caused by his mind. Yet now the attacker had a voice, and everything was suddenly all too real. The boy pauses for a second, and realizes the door is not getting any stronger. Quickly he runs back to the door just in time for the world around him to explode. His frail body is thrown backwards, smashed against the far wall like a disgruntled child’s doll. The area around him is filled with an unearthly smoke and all vision is deceased. Like a sailor lost in the fog, the boy fears what lies ahead. Images of looming glaciers cascade out of the boy’s twisted imagination. With each perverse thought, the being beyond the fog grows stronger and more intimidating. Soon the debris and dust from the explosion dissolves into the floor, and the boy is left alone in his violated sanctuary. A cornered abused dog, the boy’s eyes dart from side to side, fearing what he cannot see, sensing some impending doom. Yet the room is empty, nothing is here except a scared shivering boy. In silence the boy awaits what he knows is going to come. Bravery allows the child to stand; yet when the boy’s ears pick up the sound of something coming, Bravery takes off at full speed. Once more alone the child has to face was is to come. Just as whatever malevolent force enters, the boy’s eyes are forced shut. A wave of fear and doubt flood the boy and he is frozen in place. The warm encompassing feeling of compassion drops from the room and is taking over by the cold deserting feeling of depression. Sight is gone, feeling is gone, and all the child can hear is his own panicked breath. Tears build up beyond the closed eyes and leak their way out. As they touch the ground they freeze, and all that is left is an ice rink of sadness. Seconds magically morph themselves into years, and the child feels the presence of the demon upon his face. He feels the hot breath that chills his soul; he feels the slit eyes devour his very essence. Silently, he waits for what is to come next; he waits for the moment when everything will end. Just before the child is about to suffocate from the cold, it all retreats. A monsoon in reverse, all the cold, all the fear flows back and out of the door. The door corrects itself, and molds into the frame. Shocked, the boy slumps the floor, shaking violently from what just happened. He should be happy, yet deep inside him a sick feeling is born. He knows whatever he had just witnessed will be back. It always comes back. No matter how prepared he can be he will never be able to beat it, not matter how strong he may make himself up to be, he will always be weak.
    That is the difference the boy was born to suffer. At the moment of birth, 17 miles back, the boy was both cursed and blessed. The second the tiny child took his first breathe; it became one spent, taking away from what fate had granted him. The minute the child cried out in pain to this new world, the chips were stacked against him. All the spectators, all the perverse viewers set in their bets on the life span. Two, three perhaps four miles down the road the child will collapse. Others disagreed, believing the child would surpass all this, only to fall deep within the well of depression and cut his wings off. Quietly they all mused over how this drama would end; only to be disappointed as the child walked another mile. As the boy went on this trek, he cautiously looked over his shoulder. In the distance he could see vultures lazily circling his trail, hunger and anticipation churning. As the boy continued, he would look deep into the eyes of those who cheered him on, in their eyes existed the cold look of pity. Each merciful look they glanced at this boy became miniature daggers, digging deep within the boy’s heart and soul. To add to the suffering, the boy is kicked behind his knees by pain. A cauldron is tipped over inside, and melted torment chars the insides. Grinding his jaw, the boy squints, hoping to somehow squish the pain out. As the inferno inside grows more uncontrollable, the boy throws his head back in pain and thrashes about. Falling to the ground he assumes the only position that has brought comfort. Imaging himself back in the placid womb, the boy slides his feet across the dirt, hoping this will someone make everything subside. In desperation his hands blindly search the surroundings for something to grasp. Grasping blindly at the air, his weak fingers finally fall upon a bottle. A sigh of relief escapes Hell, as the boy is all too familiar with the bottle. Struggling, the child pops the top off, and consumes his vitamins. He eats candy after candy, vainly believing the more he eats the faster everything will act. Insanity soon sets in, always the unwelcome guest, and the boy drowns pill after pill. He soon believes the pills will extinguish the raging flame that wreaks undisputable havoc upon his body. Temporary reliefs after temporary relief, all they become are just a quick fix to an immense problem. Soon the bottle is empty, and the boy drunkenly tosses it across the field. The world around him grows dizzy, and he feels lost in a forgotten sea. Darkness snatches the child from where he lays, and soon everything becomes deathly nothing.
    Drugged, the child strives to open his lead eyelids. The world around him is absent, except for a beacon of light shinning in the corner of his eye. The harder he tries to focus on it, the faster it dances out of his vision. Puppy curiosity gets the better of the child’s common sense, and soon the child is running off. He wants to find out what could possibly be occupying the space that he is in. Something, someone, anything is here besides him, surely they are meant to be together. Finally, before the child collapses in exhaustion the world around him fills with color. Is this it? Is this what he has been waiting for all his life? As more light fills the room, the child has to shield his eyes, fearing this awesome power may blind him forever. A sense of relief takes over the emptiness that exists inside the boy, and he believes this has to be his reward for suffering so long. Happiness comes screeching to a halt, taken aback by the wall of revelation that has sprung up ahead. Soon the boy is running away from the light. Breaking into an urge to be survive, adrenaline pumps alongside fear. The boy knows where that light leads, and he doesn’t want it to be all over. He doesn’t want anything to end. He feels so close to something back home, he feels so in love and so at heart with what he surrounds himself daily. He has to return to what he is at comfort with. No matter all the pain he goes through, he still is going through it. He will face those demons, he will brave that fire, all in hope that eventually he wont face anything alone. But he will not give up, he will return to his sanctuary. Although it has been broken and invaded, it is still his sanctuary, something he still can claim his own. As the thoughts speed though his mind, he finds himself falling. He tumbles in nothing until he smacks into the floor of his sanctuary. Unsurprised, the boy dusts himself off and cries softly to be back at where he began. As the tears flow freely down, the wash the boy and was the dirty floor below, and after a moment the destroyed sanctuary looks a bit better. Just as the boy stops crying over what he feels, he is greeted by the proverbial pounding on his door. It is happening all over again, and like a record restricted to repeat, the child rushes to protect himself against what lies beyond. With each scared grasps, the pounding grows stronger, and so does the entity. Fear is what it feeds of off, for fear is what it is. The world pans out from the child protecting what little is his, and goes on about other matters. For this is far too trivial for it to waste its wisdom on.