He didnt like it in his room.

There wasnt wall space in here anymoreand his parents were adding moreand more locks on every time he left his room. They were big, heavy metal things that stuck on his door with an unrelenting grip. Again and again hed tried to get out over the past week, but his door wouldnt openand his parents had not given him any food. They didnt like him anymore. Hed heard the arguments from his bed upstairs. The yelling and the screaming that pierced through the walls of his space. His father; always pointing out the faults of Michael, and his mother always pointing out that he could change. Soonhis mothers voice started to fade, until her voice was no longer there. Her mother left him alone withwith this evil person. Bad, bad person. Bad words, bad languagemean. They argued about him. They said he was dangerous. He was BAD. He didnt like that word. Bad. The sound was even uncomfortable when he said it, as though he was choking the word out of his throat. He knewhe knew it somewhere in his heart. He knew that he couldnt be a bad personhe couldnt be the only child that was different. Was he really so alone in the world? Maybemaybe there wasnt another kid like him in the small town of Friendship, home to only 1346 people, but there had to be someone out there, right? His anime show was flickering across his Television as he went to his computer. He didnt know what to call himself. It was a complete mystery for him, so after he opened his dictionary program, he paused. What was he? The boy only remembered the names other children called him at school two years ago. It was a long time agobut he remembered. He remembered everything he could about being outside. He even remembered everything about the rocks, and the water, and all the people. The nicer ones and the meaner ones stuck to the inside of his head. He refused to let them slip away. Thoughts swarmed through his head like a black cloud of smog. Infecting what he knew in his room with what he knew of outside. He wanted to be out thereaway from his dad, who hurt him when he left. It was scary here. Michael, now sitting in his desk chair started to type. He wasnt very good at it, so he had to search for each key individually, pecking them in as he went. Michael did not use his left hand at all, the gloved mutation wasnt something he preferred to use. Freak. He typed into the dictionary, brow furrowed. The first definition that popped up was merely this. Noun. A thing or occurrence that is marked unusual or irregular. Another definition under it. An abnormally formed organism, especially a person or animal regarded as a curiosity or monstrosity. Monstrosity. Monstro? Nothat wasnt the word. Monster. The root of the word was Monster. Hehe was a monster? A monsterwhat else could a monster be called? The boy looked at his dictionary again. He slowly typed it in, the arduous process causing the minutes to tick by, and his stomach to growl more. The definition popped up and he read it. An animal, a plant, or other organism having structural defects or deformities. He knew he was an animaland an organism. He was proud to say he learned that earlier. Butbut a monster also had other definitions, like definitions with fairy-tail things, and the bad guys. So he knew he needed to look again. He had to find the right word. Words were his thing. He knew wordshe was good at words. Monster wasnt the right one. The boy typed in Defects.

The wrong tab was open when he tried to search this, and instead, it was opened in the thesaurus. One word stood out among all the other. Mutation. He blinked. Hedhed seen that in the paper before. He could remember it. Mutant. Mutant!! Michael opened the internet and slowly typed in Mutant. Therethere was information. About people like him. He found a particular website and scanned briefly through it. Then anotherand another. There werethings. People were talking about what they were. He typed slowly, so he only got one message in on each site, before he noticed another grouping of words that interested him. He was saying his nameand he was asking if he really was normal. Making sure this wasnt some kind of fake thing was important, and he wanted people to reassure him. When he went back to one site, people were talking to him. They were telling him he was fine, and that there were others like him. But Michael was scared, and confused. He posted this on a few. He posted his concerns, his fears. The reason why he thought he was different. His mother and father always told him that different was bad, and this concerned him, so he posted this in another after figuring out how to copy and paste. In fact, he copy pasted this into a bunch of places. Im scared. My dad thinks Im bad and he doesnt bring me food anymore. I think Im a mutant, but I dont know. No one else is like me where I live. It wasnt particularly descriptive. It took him almost a half an hour to type, however. He wasnt good at it. Normally, Michaels time was spent watching his movies on his television, or working on drawing characters from it. Hed grown quite a bit weaker, and could walk and things, but it was justgetting harder. His head was dizzier, and his stomach hurt more. Stick thin, the boy was unhealthy to say the least. Michael heard feet on the stairs, and then quickly turned his monitor off, the whir of the computer still very much active. He bolted from his chair and moved to his bed. It was farthest from the door. The little boy shook slightly, holding the covers. Go away he thought. Go away. The moment of fear that his father brought him would last so much longer. He heard the locks click open, and the boy prayed that his humming computer was masked by the sound of the blaring anime playing on his television. The door opened and Michaels real, flesh-built hand was digging into his legs a bit. His father looked about the room. Youve kept it clean enough, kid. The voice was a handsome, suave voice. He was the kind of man that attracted all the girls that visited the bank. Handsome, though he should never, never have a child like Michael. Michael felt a slap across his face, the perfectly trimmed nails his father made sure to keep strong raked across his face. Blood from where they cut hurt him, but he still said nothing. I SPOKE TO YOU!! He yelled. Michael curled up in a ball, putting his head between his knees. Any other boy of his age would speak. They would respond to this hateful man, beg and plead to have him stop hurting them, but Michael was different. Hed always been different. Something in his head would not let him talk to those that hurt him, that were angry at him. He instead was a little boy with autism. He threw one of his pencils at his father, infuriatin the male more. This father kicked him over on

his side, angry and abusive. His tie was loosened, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, and his expression becoming more wild as time passed. Sparing the details, for the next hour his father tried again and again to make his autistic child speak. Again and again this child either threw things at him, or just cowered in fear. The male, panting, soon grew tired of his attempts and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Michael waited until the locks were clicked shut once again before he started to cry. He wanted his mommy, but mommy wouldnt come back for him. Mommy left and he knew it. The boy felt blood drip slowly onto his sheets and he sniffed, crying out loud. Almost to the point of wailing. It hurt. After a little bit, he heard the door slam, meaning his father went out to do something, maybe another date, or maybe something that he wanted to do with his work money, but whatever the reason, he was alone. The boy stood up, falling over as he tried to stand, but he managed it. He went to his computer, and he logged onto the websites again. He typed a single message, though not his address, he wasnt thinking about that much, he was just thinking about the pain that he had. The boys message read merely this. Hes hurting me. Please please help. The boy shut his monitor off again, and moved to his television, putting in his bleach videotape. The boy moved slowly then to his bathroom, now that there was a sufficient amount of noise on. He flinched as he started to put his bandages on the places that were bleeding. Other places just hurt, and he knew that there would be some new bruises. Shutting the bathroom light off, he left the room. His bed, though it had new spots of blood on it, was warm and inviting. He curled up beneath the covers, holding onto one of his anime teddy bears. He held onto it tightly. It was an imitation from some obscure show. The only present his father actually thought about giving him, on his sixth birthday. Michael held it close to him, the animal already ratty from all the use hed given to it. This was what he got when daddy was happy with him, but as the bear was falling apart, so was daddys happiness.