He sits there staring out the window. Mind repeating the words, "Why me." He had a disease that could never be cured. No one knew how he had gotten the disease. "It might have been from the blood transfusion." the doctors had said. He lays his head on the pillow and cries. The school had found out a day after he had. He was treated differently from then on. He was an outcast in the eyes of everyone. Discriminated against because of his disease. He took medication to help his immune system. But the disease was winning on the outside. Even in his own home he was treated differently. He continued to cry, the moon shining through the window. Pain flowing through him like water through a river. What had he done to deserve the pain he felt. He asked himself this everyday, but never could find an answer. The pain of the past then came into the river. He saw images of a day at school while he was playing with some kids. He heard someone call out from elsewhere, "Don't play with him. He has a disease that could kill you." The words stung him like alcohol in an open wound. Later images of his past nights in the house came to him. He walked into the house, dinner was ready and on the table. He washed his hands and sat down. His mother looked at him and shook her head. "Maybe you should eat alone in your room." He felt like his world was coming to an end because of the disease. Alone in this dark and cruel world. He got up and walked to the bathroom door. He heard his parents talking downstairs. "Is he safe to keep in the house?" his father was asking. "I don't know, but he is our son." his mother responded. He walked into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and washed his face. "I am just like everyone else." he lied to himself. Turning off the water and light he returned to his bedroom. He looked toward his desk and saw a box cutter. He walked to it and picked it up. Opening it he cut his finger and watched the blood flow from the cut. "This is why I am different." A tear rolled down his face. He sat on the bed and closed his eyes. He had to learn how to handle the pain. He shook his head knowing that the pain would always come. He knew why it would always come, it was because he had AIDS.
