Once Upon A Time, there was a boy who had lost his mind.
That's what his grandmother told him. That's what the neighbors who watered the camellias in their gnome-littered yard told him. And that's what his friends told him, long before they went away and left him alone at recess.
You see, the boy thought that what he saw was what everyone else could see. There were wondrous things in the world – fantastic creatures that flew over the rooftops, and winged people that gazed into shop windows. Great, big monsters with striped horns wandering through the farm fields. And little butterflies that glowed like stars, flitting past the street lamps at night.
It bothered the boy that no one else laughed at the silly beasts, or turned to look when the silver-skinned lady chatted to the birds. Or noticed the princess sitting in the alley, tin cup in hand. He tried to discuss it with the grown-ups, but many would give him an odd look, while others tried to pinch his cheeks (he never liked that). Nobody his age would listen, either. The few times that he tried to discuss it with his mother, she would only give him a sad smile.
"You're my special boy," she would tell him, and kiss his forehead. "My odd-eyed, special boy. Never forget that."
And he never did. Everyone made sure of it. As he grew older, the stories became less silly and more serious. The wondrous things were mixed with frightening ones, and soon nobody wanted to hear what he had to say. Lips began to whisper, and eyes began to stare. Thoughts and looks spoke louder than words. The time came when the boy would lie awake at night, listening to his mother and grandmother argue about him, throwing about the words doctor and diseases. And he would curl into the mattress, trying to shut it all out.
Then there came a morning, when his mother and grandmother took him to a sterile examining room. There, a doctor in cold white clothes gave him pretty-colored pills, wand promised that those would make the creatures and fantastic things go away.
And you know what?
The boy swallowed them. Without a beat.
Because he was afraid. Afraid that the whispering lips and staring eyes were right. And that above all else, he didn't want to be in trouble, and he didn't want to be alone.