He was like a spark of lightning and just like lightening he could only be seen for a moment in time. He was fragile enough to let tiny moments affect him but at the same time he had the ability to let it all go, to let it dissipate in to the night where it all happened because unlike most people his days consisted of variation of nights.

There was the twilight; that soft touch of ray still existed, caressing him with happy thoughts. He had hope then. Dreams hadn’t turned in to foreign concepts and he didn’t have to lie to convince himself everything was okay.  Then came the night. It confused him at first, seeming oddly desperate. The ground beneath him stopped being stable, instead, it developed a certain quality of being foam like, lopsided, unpredictable.  It rocked his world until he finally fell and broke all the pieces that made him who he was.

It was then that midnight came with all its might. It consumed everything in its path so that nothing of the scattered sunlight remained to be a lantern of hope. He was utterly engulfed by it like the vortexes he read about on his sci-fi books and lasted so long it seemed the only thing he ever really knew.    

He had this way, you see, where he would lay his neck on the edge of his bed so his head would dangle from it. His hair hanged loose and his eyes went glossy with the thoughts that fed on his mind. Then and only then could he see the world as it truly was. Wrong. Erroneous. Mistaken and invalid, like him, just like him. And maybe that was why people feared lightning; though it seemed to be the most beautiful thing every created, packed with electricity and electrons so powerful it had the power to form minerals under the earth, anything it seemed to touch it destroyed or at the very least, seared black. No body dare touch him because in the simplest of words, he was bad for the world.