"...In the young man's bedroom
police found disturbing
poetry, drawings, and writings.
The boy's father said he
knew about these
and encouraged the
boy to stop them."

The television droned on.
A school shooting.
Numbers, irrelevant.
The boy took his own
life along with his
classmate's.

"His father, the model of
manliness, told him to stop
the only way he knew how to
express himself."
said the decrepit octogenarian
to his squat, plump nurse.

"Yes, Mr. Smith. You shouldn't
be watching that stuff...
it gets you all excited then
I have to come in here
and check your pulse,
and heart, and oxygen."

Would hate
to make you get up...
He thought.

"The anger can't be bottled
up forever. It will come out.
It could have come out
in a therapeutic and peaceful
way, but it came out in
a violent and brutal way."

"Yes, Mr. Smith, the world
is a terrible place."

"That's not what I said.
What stands between
a murderer and an Einstein
is the ability to express
oneself. This boy
was taught that his
expression was wrong, therefore
he was wrong."

"The youth are troubled."

"The youth are perfect.
They haven't had the weight
and burden of time ****** on them.
They are the only ones free
from the ******* story
we all buy of the way things
are. They can
express themselves and
change the world, but
we have to stop telling them
they're wrong."

"Oh of course Mr. Smith, the
children are our future..."

Stupid *****, she's not even
listening. She can't wait to
get back to her one
handed novel she's got
at the reception desk.

The man closed his eyes
and dreamed of what could be
if he were young again.