The room was quiet now, its inhabitants, a boy of seven with a short stature. His hair was unkempt, he wore only a paper robe that the doctor had given him. The boy was cold in the starch white room, goose bumps formed on his visible arms. He shivered, he was cold, not only for the temperature, but of the news he would soon receive. The boy had been different than others his age since birth, he was quiet; but, not shy as much as bored. He had nothing to talk about, his expressions showed emotion, clarity even. The other children ignored him, that was until he showed promise and finesse of the mind. He would constantly reproach the teachers at school, he questioned the integrity of the “system” that he was placed in. The Principal had a fond liking for the boy, he was smart, critical, and he was a rebel.



But not a rebel of the sword, but of the mind.

The door opened to the cold and darkened room, in walked a man of his early thirties, hair brown, eyes brown. He wore clothing that would classify him as, “trendy,” but the boy cared not for appearance. The man was followed by a smaller woman, whom was carrying the boy’s clothing. She was young, early twenties the boy presumed, she was attractive, slender. She opened her mouth and any feelings the boy had for her were instantly lost.

“Here’s your clothing,” As she placed the clothes down next to the boy she smiled and looked into his grey eyes.

“You’re very brave.” She walked out, sounds of tears formed as she left, the boy was baffled as to why she cried. The man walked in and sat next to the boy, tears formed in his eyes as well. He looked to the wall across from him, avoiding eye contact with the boy. He looked to the boy, just for a moment, trying to form the words that would leave his mouth, nothing came. He looked away once more before stating quietly.

“You know, you know I always wanted the best for you right?” He looked at the boy finally without facing the wall again.

“I suppose, why?” The boy said with little emotion besides the very little he used in the question.

“Well, do you know what a syndrome is?”

“I am.”

“Well, sometimes these syndromes can happen for unknown reasons, and, well. You have one of those syndromes.”

“Which one?” The boy was unshaken by the news, he was more curious than startled.

“Asperger’s syndrome, it’s a geneti-”

“Father, I am well aware of Asperger’s, please don’t insult me further by implying I do not.”

“Oh, sorry, I jus-”

“I understand, you and many others have misconceptions on age and I.Q. levels, it’s fine, I just was informing you on my knowledge of Asperger’s, also part of the Autism spectrum of known syndromes.”

“Right, well, they don’t have anything that can help.”

“Help? I don’t understand. How would this ‘help’ me?”

“Well with Asperger’s, individuals have limited empat-”



“Again, I’m well aware of any symptoms of the syndrome, I merely don’t understand why one would take steps to ‘help’ me as you described.”

“Well, with the syndrome people may treat you differently. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Pain is subjective, its used by starving artists to evoke feelings unto the reader, really though it’s no more real than the Force out of Star Wars. Regardless though, what makes you think changing me will stop the ‘Pain’? I will live through life as anyone else, blissfully ignorant to everything?” The boy had been speaking softly, his words rang true, to the last syllable, his eyes fixed on his father’s, never compromising.


“I know its difficult to understand, but I only want what’s best for you.”

“As I am aware, Asperger’s creates a almost transcending amount of brain activity, allowing for one to become extremely focused on hobbies, studies, and projects of all kinds. Yes I may miss out on a hug or two, but is that really needed?”



“Well they say a baby that is never touched will die. Humans need contact.”

“No, we need water, food, warmth, and shelter. ‘Needs’ can be exaggerated greatly, this generation finds that you ‘need’ a cell phone, computer, and car to make life possible. When really you only need, a wired house phone, a library, and public transport to make life possible in this sense. This outrageous hyperbole of human societal nature is becoming greatly exaggerated over time.”

The man massaged the bridge of his nose, a headache formed in his temple, his hands began to sweat and his heart began to break. He spoke, loudly, with passion and purpose.

“This is exactly what the syndrome does to you!” The boy spoke one last time now with emphasis on every word, his voice, dry and monotone.

“Why is it when a person is born with too much energy, they’re labeled with A.D.H.D.? Or when a person transcends normal intellectual bounds, they’re labeled with Asperger’s? Or strangely enough, why is it when a human whose nature is violent by design, is labeled a Sociopath? Why do we give labels to things we do not understand, to make others tread lightly when dealing with it? Or to frown upon such things that are only natural. A strange culture we live in, strange indeed.”

The boy grabbed his clothing and left his father alone in the dark room. His headache grew stronger now, he could feel the front of his head begin to swell. He looked in the small mirror across from seat, the figure in the mirror was familiar, he looked boring, plain, normal. And when the truth finally dawned on the man, all he could do was hold back broken tears.