They all think I'm crazy. Perhaps. br br They all think I'm innocent. Perhaps. br br They all think I'm always happy. br br Wrong. br br I –seem- innocent, I –seem- happy, I –seem- ignorant. But believe me, I'm not. br br What's behind the mask, they ask. Why are you like this, they ask. Why won't you share, they ask. br br The answer is dangerous. How daring are you? br br Ooh. My, my, my. How courageous. br br How stupid. br br The smile, the laugh, the jokes. All if it is somewhere for me to hide, somewhere safe. But why? br br I can still see him. The tears in his eyes, the pain – agony! – that he felt. He cried and he bled. My hands are still red with his blood. That stain will never go away. br br The coordinates were wrong. Somehow, they were wrong. I thought it was an OZ military base. But...it wasn't... br br I leapt from Death Scythe, running across the field. It wasn't a military base. It was Green Hills Elementary School. That day, the school had been on a field trip. But one little boy played on the playground. br br I saw him struggling out of the wreckage. Nearly every bone in his body was broken, and he cried as much as he bled. I pulled him into my lap, not noticing the blood that covered my hands, my legs, my chest. So, so much blood. He cried and he bled, and he cried some more, and be bled some more. br br His name was Thomas. He had a dog at home, and a brother. He liked to play baseball and read and watched movies. br br After nearly thirty minutes, Thomas died. br br See? Dangerous. br br And wrong. br br So, so wrong.