Joyous laughter fills the air as children run and play without care. Together they join hand in hand as they create a world of imagination and freedom. Tears of happiness stream down their rosy faces as they giggle with anticipation. Time to them, is nothing, and all that matters is joy. Consequence exempts them from its deadly grip, and cares only to destroy the child that watches. There, off in the distance, only seen if one truly cares to look, is a boy. Face pressed against the window, he caresses the window, wanting to touch, wanting to interact with his peers. Mocking what he wishes to be, he kicks an imaginary ball into an imaginary goal. Realization slaps the boy across the face, and pain consumes. The little boy cries from the sting, and cries for not being allowed outside to play. Where his friends cry from happiness, he cries from pain. This isn’t fair the boy cries to his stuffed animals. What did I ever do, to deserve this punishment? I am not wicked, I have not sinned, and Nobody has any right to punish me. The boy tells his inanimate friends this, yet their shoulder is made of cloth, and they offer no compassion. He gets from them what he gets from everywhere else, glass eyes, and no response. Screaming in rage that is fueled by failure, the boy runs up to the window and pounds at it. With each tiny fist that slams into the window, maturity goes with it. Soon the boy is crying and screaming to the heavens. Why he asks, why do this to me? The boy begins to think he is on some sick show for the world. Everybody is in on the voyeurism show, except the victim. Nightly people from above and below tune in, voting on what thing happens to this child next. Everyone wants to see how this child reacts, and how the world reacts to it, so when this tragedy comes to them, they can dodge it. No, that cant be how it is, Nobody would allow the world to be that cruel. Determined to show the world that this little boy cannot be held down, he runs out his door. With hope as his energy he flies to the door, arms and legs pumping into the air. Hope takes a face and his eyes gleam with potential. The boy smiles as he gets closer and closer to the door, he is going to show the world that he cannot be held back. The boy reaches the door, and suddenly he is thrown back, slammed into the farthest wall. The breath, the hope, the will, and the potential, are all thrown out of the frail body. Gasping for relief the child crawls at the air that has escaped him. Failure is the truism of this boy’s life, and it is also the immortal redundancy that lurks at every corner. All this boy wanted to do was go out and play, is that so hard? Is there some unwritten rule that restricts the pleasure this boy will never get? Across from the door, crumpled and broken, the boy curls up into a fetal position. He tries in vain to return to a time when everything was ok, when he was completely dependant, a time before life had gotten hold of him. Yet the divine retribution he seeks never comes, and all he gets out of this is a pool of sorrow. In this time of complete vulnerability the boy remembers his past, searching his past errors for answers to his present questions. He remembers those times when he wasn’t restricted. When he would run out that door, into the assuring field, where he was so carefree and ignorantly happy. He remembers how he would meet his friends, and they would imagine a world of fantasy, where every day the story ended in a happy ending. A place of knights and dragons, of thieves and cruel kings, an Atlantean city where everyone exists in prosperity. Sadly the boy cannot spend his how life dwelling on these past memories, all his gets out of them are tears and nostalgia. He wishes he could visit that time again, he wishes with what little strength is left. His fists clench, his eyes close tightly, and he wishes to be outside with all his friends, in the middle of it all. He tries until blood is drawn from his hands, and tears are squeezed from his eyes, until he is unable to go on. He opens his soaked eyes and his breath is stolen. Green light fills his body as he lays witness to the field he once played in. The golden rays of the sun, bounce idly off the sea of grass, filling the entire playground with a comforting green aura. This is the moment the boy had been dreaming of for an eternity. The playground in his dreams was finally a reality he could touch and interact with. Carefully, the boy draws a shaking hand to a butterfly that is sailing in the wind. The boy finally touches the butterfly, and it lands on his hand. Scared and shocked that the butterfly didn’t disappear, the boy brings it in front of his face with newborn curiosity. In the boys eyes, the butterfly’s wings lazily contract and expand, the butterfly exists on the ocean that is the boy’s pupil and float deep into the horizon, forever stuck in the boys imagination. Drunk from the new freedom, the boy sets the butterfly free and runs through the liquid grass. The boy spins around, unsure what to do next, with some many options at his willing fingertips. For hours the boy plays with the other children, all of which are excited and pleasured by his return. This little boy can now act out what he had always wanted to do, the window that has separated him from his dream is finally gone. Everything is so much better now, all the darkness is gone, and the gray that filled his life is gone, taken over by bright ecstatic colors. Finally this boy is happy.
    It is short lived, as everything in the boy’s life. Sick, the boy falls to the ground; disease takes over like a flood, drowning out everything good. The poison has taken affect, and the boy shudders with pain. The sickness that has lied dormant has finally been triggered, and its time of ruling is at hand. All the fun the boy could have had is over in the eyes of the sickness, and it is time for the boy to deserve what it gets. The boy is different, the boy is special, so special people must get special treatment. Time has taken its toll on the boy where it has spared the others. The boy lies in the ground that has suddenly dried up, thrashing and shaking uncontrollably. He crawls across the ground, hurting and hoping to fall across the field of green again. The little boy crawls across the field, scaring his body, leaving a trail of tears. The green never returns and only desolation lies up ahead. The fun has ended; the pleasure and freedom are all long gone. All that lies ahead is pain and torment, restriction and chaos. In desperation the boy cries out to whoever would listen to him. Through his sobs and through his tears he hopes that someone above can hear him and guide him through the dark. Yet he remembers this same thing happening to him in the past, and when that happened he was once again bound to his room, to stare at all the children having fun, to wish every night and never receive. Life is cruel to this little boy, letting him have a taste of the forbidden fruit, letting him climb the tree and gaze in admiration at what is available, only to knock him down, and cause him to grow ill. Here on the cracked ground the boy just lays, and waits for someone to come along and carry him to his room and lay him down on his bed to rest. There he will be tied down until he is better, and during that time he will never be able to look at that window. During his time of recovery is the time of his punishment, and hopes and dreams are a reward he doesn’t deserve. For his ignorance, for his want to have fun in the world, he is punished. He is different than any other child out there, he is special, and in being different comes being tormented. He cannot have fun without signing away something, and that something is his health, and his mind. This is the price he was born to pay, and now is the time of pay. In his bed, the boy lies, waiting for the clouded figure to come save him. Yet that hooded figure never comes, and he must suffer, and wait. He must wait till he can watch from the window again, he must wait till he can try to escape, and he must wait till he gets the taste of freedom and happiness. This little boy is forever restricted, and forever withdrawn. .