The boy was sitting on his bed. His parents would call him soon to go to the psychologist.

He couldn't go.

No one understood him. He was alone, lost and angry. Why did that happen to him? God did not love him? God would really do something like that to him?

His parents would kill him if they knew.

The little boy looked around his room. The toys, before very tidy and clean, were now no longer on the shelves, everything was falling. If anyone could observe the boy out the window, would know what he was: an aberration. Things were pulled from the place where they were, floated around the room as if in zero gravity and then, were dropped on the floor. Some picture frames cracked in half. The books seemed to be dragged from the desk and were thrown with a bang. The glass of water next to the boy's bed was thrown on the wall and the boy winced at the noise. Then he seemed to realize what he had done and literally everything stopped. The shattered glass pieces were suspended in the air, a book that was almost reaching the ground was touching it on the back. So the events seemed to enter the boy's head.

He started to cry. But he had a reason, as clear and as stark as the sun:

No one understood him.

The next thing he remembered of happen was when his door opened with a bump. But it was not his mother, his father, neither his brother. It was not his psychologist. It was not his math teacher. It was not his best friend Ben. It was not Sandy. He remembered something poking his arm and then everything went black.