Through the window

He looked out of the window. In a distance he could see the playground. He could see several boys running about and passing the ball. The football match was in full swing. The noise made by the spectators made it clear that everyone on the other side of the window was having a wonderful time. He wanted to join but he was afraid.

Long ago he did join a few others. They did allow him to play with them but in turn they played with him.

He still remembers how he was kicked pushed and dumped in a puddle of muck by them. They had started to pelt stones at him when a local rag picker came to his escape. No one noticed the warmth of his pain rolling down his cheeks camouflaged by the filth that covered his torso. This was only one such incident, several had followed. He wanted to forget it all and join them but they never allowed him. His fear did not allow him.

A few well wishers thought it would be best to send him here. At least he can find company.

On the first night when he left his room to walk around he was abused by the caretaker. He had cried aloud in pain. Only this time no one came to his rescue. He was beaten repeatedly for several days till his desire to protest died completely.


No one ever understood that nothing has changed this side of this small window of this asylum. They still call him mentally disbalanced only because he wanted to join them and be like them.