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Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

- Ray Bradbury

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Cerulean eyes, unblinking and becoming dry, stared at the brightly painted wall before him. The spring green carpet that he lay on was itchy, uncomfortable, but he didn't care. A sunflower clock ticked away in a corner of the four wall space and laughing could be heard in the rooms across from and beside his room. He was unmoving, cold, seemingly lifeless. Though he was alive. His heart still thumped in his small chest and the breaths he breathed were soft and slow. He had tried many times to just stop breathing, but he was too afraid to.

One time he tried. He'd almost met her again. She stood at the gates, waiting, smiling, her wine-red dress flapped and her chocolate-brown tresses became tangled in the wind. Before he could touch her hand and join her, he'd begin breathing again, and tears would burn his eyes and fall carelessly down his cheeks.

The ticking of the sunflower clock was long ago annoying. Now, it was just something that had etched its way into the blond's head. What was the point of the clock? Whether it was day or night, kids, teens and adults were awake, laughing with or at each other in pleasure. They were so loud. Why were they so loud? The boy could remember hearing the sharp crack of a whip and a mix of crying and screaming. The boy could remember people yelling and screeching in complete and utter anger going back and forth at each other. The boy could remember beds creaking and scraping across the floorboards, cries of ecstasy following each thump on the wall. There were so many sounds here in the Happy Factory.

Lucas only wished that he was deaf so that he wouldn't be able to hear the many noises that rebounded off of the pink walls of the crazy house. Nor did he want the ability to talk to those berserk idiots The Council thought were doctors. All of the doctors were mad. As mad as March hares.

The Council hated Lucas because he wouldn't become happy. He could never become happy, not with the way he was living.

All of the other kids who were happy had the privilege to escape the confines of the Happy Factory, using the lessons of happiness in their life so that they could all be joyful. So that they could all live longer.

But none of it worked with the withered blond. He was like a failed experiment that the doctors continuously poked at. What was the use of teaching the things they thought were going to work, didn't? The kids disliked him also. They disliked him because he wouldn't become happy. They glared at him whenever he was dragged down a much too high-spirited hallway and threw hard candies at him, some bigger children forcing him to eat it. They picked up the dirty candy and shoved their bloody hands in his mouth, waiting for Lucas to swallow, though he never did. It was useless.

Pathetic.

It disgusted Lucas how much they tried and failed.

Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Just plain insanity.

Just plain stupidity.

Lucas sat at his opalescent desk, waiting for the lesson of the day to begin. Today's lesson probably had something to do with learning how to laugh at un-funny jokes, just so that the person telling the joke wouldn't feel bad, or something else that was completely ludicrous. It was like this once a week. Or once every three days. He would be dragged out of his sunflower themed room and to an obnoxiously bright classroom with no windows. The walls were covered with childish pictures painted with innocence, photographs taken by beings of skill.

The boy that sat before Lucas, Link, or "Toon" Link (the doctors added "Toon" so that his name could sound funnier), sat and his shoulder blades moved along with his arms. Glancing over his shoulder, Lucas tried to spot what the boy was doing now.

Triangles.

Simple, yellow triangles.

Toon Link continued to draw triangles. When he wasn't paying attention (which was kind of all the time), Toon Link would bring out all types of yellow utensils; lemon-colored sharpies, highlighters, sunny crayons and honey watercolors. He'd compose pictures of all types and sizes of triangles with three smaller ones on the inside. "Triforce" is what he called it.

Oh, the imagination that Toon Link had that Lucas didn't.

Floating at the hot pink desk in front of the class was Mr. Crazy. He was a hand that was about the size of a small child's bedroom. The glove that he wore over his most likely scarred hand was a bright white, but had colorful paint splatters and crayon markings.

Mr. Crazy was demented. Demented he was indeed.

He yelled and jested at adolescents, often poking fun at them, calling them stupid or even touching them in a way that they probably wouldn't want to be touched. But obviously that student didn't care, else they would've said something about it. But they never did. Why?

Because if they refused to go along with Mr. Crazy's advances and intentions, you'd never see that child again. Honestly, it was hard to believe that Lucas was still trudging the rainbow tiles below his feet.

Jumping from his desk and standing before the class in an air of authority, Mr. Crazy directed the class, his booming voice reaching the back of the room with no problem. He talked and talked about "happy, happy fun times" with your friends and in bed. But Lucas was lonely and didn't have friends. There was no way for him to experience these "happy, happy fun times". Lucas could wish that he had friends, but no one in the Happy Factory desired to be his friend. Sometimes he considered Toon Link his friend, but when it was time to partner up for group activities, Toon Link would run across the room and sit beside that Tetra girl or, as Mr. Crazy called her, Tetralina.

He'd be the only independent classmate, but it wasn't like Lucas had a problem with that.

"Mr. Sloth?"

Attention directed to the hand that was now at his desk. Why hadn't Lucas seen him coming? Reverie broken, Lucas focused his cerulean eyes on Mr. Crazy.

"Try to actually pay attention in class, yeah? I won't always stop because you're floating off in Dreamland."

"What's Dreamland?" A kid asked.

"Dreamland? Why, young one, Dreamland is a beautiful place, where it's always nighttime."

"What's nighttime?"

Lucas rolled his eyes and placed his hand on his chin. The questions and explanations continued and after some time, he began going back to Dreamland. It was so easy to drown out people's voices and just think. Think about romance, good scenarios, your favorite food even. Lucas's favorite food was a breakfast omelet. He loved them when his mother made them. She would always throw in a little extra egg and cheese in his.

"MR. SLOTH."

Uh oh, caught again.

Attention refocused and suddenly there were two hands at the front of the classroom. It was Mister Master. Mister Master was now there. He was the head honcho of the Happy Factory, leader of all things happy and fun. He was the thing that had captured Lucas and brought him here. Even though he was a hand, he could actually see him… smiling. But not a Mr. Crazy smile (something that would most likely be creepy beyond measure). One that voiced sympathy and trying. One that sounded old age with a wise cranium. Lucas liked Mister Master more than Mr. Crazy.

"Lucas?"

Hearing his name sounded so foreign to the blond's ears. Usually it was Mr. Sloth or Sunflower Boy, but only Nana and Popo called him Sunflower Boy.

"Lucas, would you come with me, please?"

Lucas blinked, but soon obliged. He didn't want to be in there anymore anyway. Toon Link tilted his head and smiled a smile that a cat would smile. Why was he smiling? There was nothing to smile about.

Toon Link waved.

Toon Link is lucky that he didn't hear the crazed screaming coming from the other end of the hallway once Lucas had exited the room.

Toon Link is lucky that he's deaf.