It was a dark, cold night. The loud clash of the angry waves repeatedly echoed. Billy was once again sitting. Sitting on the end of the filthy pavement. That was the spot he sat every time he felt something extraordinary. He was thinking. Thinking of his fears, his life, and much more. No one but Billy knew his greatest fear.

Trying to keep himself warm, the lonely boy wrapped his blanket tightly around himself. Billy was feeling something weird. It was a feeling that something was missing from him.

The atmosphere was creepy. Cars hurried by, their headlights leading the way to escape. 17 had passed so far. Billy had been counting. His fastidiousness wasn’t what made him isolated and unwanted. He actually didn't know what did. But he didn't always feel connected to the world like other people seemed to be. Sometimes he felt as empty as a bottomless pit, because no one knew the loss he'd experienced in his short life.

For example, earlier that day Billy was rushing to the library. He entered the tube station, books held tightly in his hand. He didn't look up but quickly found himself at the foot of the escalator. His path was blocked though by a man standing tall and proud with an aura of virtuosity. But Billy was in a rush, and had to pass. He quietly asked "Excuse, s...s...sorry sir. Can I pass?"

The man didn't move. Billy, with a resigned sense of inevitability, wasn't offended or surprised - he was used to this.

But suddenly, with the from trains roaring through his blonde hair, Billy felt tear rolling down his rosy cheeks. He couldn't take in all the feelings any more.