"That" Boy.

When he was forced to leave his room, the only sanctuary he had, it was usually to school, or perhaps with his mother to the shops. He always insisted he sat in the trolley.

He had done since he was three. His mother scowled, but eventually let him. At least she knew how to handle his fragile mind.

He sucked his thumb when he was in the trolley. Whenever people saw him, they thought he had a mental disease. But he didn't. He had just been tormented to the brink of insanity.

By the careless, careless people who roamed this earth. They were the bane of his existence. They made him cry into his pillows at night. He used to sleep in his parents bed, but he got to big for that.

He hated his therapist. Never said a word. His mother was there, describing what he had done this week, if he was improving or not. Usually not.

He sat in the corner, and played with the basket of kids toys. They had grown boring and mundane, but in his mind, they were still as new as the day he first laid eyes on them.

School was just torture. He was teased for the way he looked, the way he didn't speak, the way he acted. He still played on the playground equipment.

He was brilliantly intelligent, but never paid attention to the teacher, or any of his work.

Too busy holding back tears.