The Boy in the Photo
I know the boy in the photo. He was born into paradise, but through ignorance he painted a battlefield. Every character is an enemy soldier. He lived in heightened fear, alertness, and anxiety, to protect himself. Each encounter left a wound, and each wound makes the painting darker. Many days he stared into the depths of hell through the loop of his escape portal. One slip and it would all go away. Yet, what he was truly hoping for was someone to end the war. He didn't want to fight anymore. Years became decades, the help never came. Those who don't see the wounds, in their own ignorance, re-infect them over and over, not recognizing the need for treatment. Yet, it was not the others who have wronged him, it was me. I was with him since the first blip of his consciousness, I was his most trusted friend. But I did not help him. I too was absorbed by the illusion of the painting. It was my duty to dispel the illusions and guide him out of the darkness when his own faculties coul...