they all look at him with judgement laugh and call him names never thinking for a moment the fragile child would erupt he is but a storm a in a teacup waiting to explode they dont expect thousands of sharp shards flying through the air like lightnight bolts in a storm the hurricane that once free grows into something no man can control the storm in him is lying in wait waiting for someone to drop the teacup

the noises the forest made were eerie but that did not scare him he was an outcast and the forest was his only escape he trees swayed with the wind and seemed to speak to him they wailed and groaned but to him it seemed they were speaking in words so illuminating he couldn’t help but be drawn they told him to come with them and to the depths he ran never seen again