“Why?” he pondered. Why doesn’t she talk to him? He has been in love since he has arrived in this place. At first he had hated his parents for sending him here. He had spent many nights wondering why they sent him here. He couldn’t think of a single logical reason. What had he done? Maybe it was that one incident where everyone had started yelling. But he couldn’t understand why they were all yelling. I mean all he had done was strike a bully’s head in on the playground after he had made fun of him for talking with people “who aren’t real.” But his friends are very real. They are the ones who told him that he shouldn’t tolerate those bully’s words. They are the ones who told to bash the kid’s head in.

Still that incident didn’t make any sense of why his parents would send him here. He done that out of loyalty for his friends. Well he was here, and there was nothing he could do about it. They put him in a small room. It had a bed, a small toilet and sink, and a small window. He still had his friends. They would still talk to him. They would thank him for standing up for them. And for a while he would talk. He would also talk to the nice people who would often come and visit. They asked a lot of questions. They were weird questions. He saw no reason to lie. They asked about his friends, what they would talk about, what they looked like. He told them. He said they talked about bashing that kid’s head and how if anyone else tried to hurt his friends, or anyone else he loved, he would hurt them too. He told the nice people what his friends looked like. He told them they were people, just regular people. People who like to talk.
One day a man in a black suit and a weird white collar came in to talk to him. The man asked him whether he believed in God or not. He said no. He asked for a physical description of his friends. He told them the same thing he told the nice people. Then the man left. He never saw him again. After that the nice people who asked questions didn’t come as often. He became bored. Even his friends grew boring. Yes, he still loved them. He just didn’t feel like talking to them as much. The talked about the same things, killing and destruction. That got boring. Then that magical day happened. That wondrous day. The day she appeared.

She was beautiful. No, she was more than that. She was more than beautiful. She was about thirteen or fourteen years old, about eight years older than he. She was small, with dirty blonde hair and deep green eyes. She had just begun to enter the noticeable stages of puberty. She had an air of solemn innocence about her. It was love at first site. He couldn’t believe it. Later that day, when the nice people came, (he had been able to figure on which day the nice people would come) he told them about her. He told them he was in love. They got a scared look on their faces. He didn’t understand why. He didn’t care. He still had her. When he had finally found the courage to go and talk to her; she ignored him. He had gone to ask her what her name was. She just keep sitting there. She wouldn’t say anything to him. She just sat there, looking lonely. He didn’t understand.

Day after wretched day, he tried talking to her. He pleaded with her. He even went so much of asking the nice people if they knew her name. It was futile. He could not find out her name. It made him so angry. He knew what to do when he was angry. His friends told him many times. He had to hurt whoever was to blame. At first he blamed her. Then he realized that if he blamed her he would have to hurt her. He couldn’t do that. He tried to blame his friends. The same problem occurred. So he blamed the nice people. They were the only people who he could blame that he could hurt. So that’s what he did. The next time the nice people came, he hurt them, the same way he hurt the bully who had made fun of his friends.

After that they him put in another room. This one had no bed, toilet, sink, or window. The walls were made of a padded material. Good news, his friends were still with him. Bad news, so was she. She still wouldn’t talk to him. He needed to hurt more people. So he plotted a way to get out of this place. He was going to hurt the world.