The bed creaks.  

Tears stream down his face. Mother Nature mocks him with her clear blue skies, and her creation chirps. 

His parents are clueless, as are his brothers and his friends. 

He heads toward the door.  

 

Eleven. The age of LEGOs, recess, and dodgeball. 

Not for him. Inner conflicts rage as he spies the class bully. 

And the Cheshire Cat looks on his shaking victim.  

His heart skips a beat.  

The Cat pounces, and it’s humiliation. Again. 

The Cat laughs.  

 

Thirteen. The age of gossiping, lies, and awkward first kisses. 

Not for him. Inner conflicts rage as his aunt enters her domain.  

“Well?” 

The Monster listens.  She laughs. And she pounces.  

He screams and begs, and it’s then that she stops.  

Blood drips down his face, and he lies sobbing in the Punishment Corner. 

The Monster laughs. 

 

Fourteen. The age of high school, budding independence, and hours of homework. 

Not for him. Inner conflicts rage That Kid smirks, and says:  

“Look at the way he walks. Look at the way he talks.” 

That Kid trips him while running laps.  

The P.E. class laughs. 

 

He finally makes his way down the stairs.  

His new parents don’t know, he was taken from his aunt by CPS.  

Why didn’t he tell them when he first moved in with them? 

He tells his new parents.  

“After all this time?” they say. 

“Always,” he says. 

He shows them his arm, clearly marked with three distinct letters: 

 

The letter “g”, the letter “a”, and the letter “y.”