There once was a boy. A small boy, he was a very frail child. His name was Clive. When he was born he was bedridden. He was unable to walk and only knew his family and their friends. Clive was very lonely, he never saw anything past the walls of his room. The only thing he could see outside his window was his yard. There was a giant 8ft oak tree and the green grass that was his lawn. His younger siblings would gather there with their friends and play. Whenever he met eye contact with one of his siblings they would wave at him, smiling. His heart would ache with jealousy whenever they did that, Clive would get furious. Why couldn't he be like them, why did he get the bad genes and they didn't. Why? That is what he asked everyday. Everyday the same thing over and over really got to Clive. His siblings would go to school while he was stuck at home with his mom teaching him everything. He couldn't get up and get a snack when he was hungry, he always had to ask someone. Clive would always have to wait for someone to do something for him, instead of him getting up and actually getting it himself. He was tired, tired of having to depend on everyone. Only seeing the outside, through a tiny window. Being too sickly to even go outside. He was sick and tired of everything. He was almost 18 and he barely knew what outside his room looked like. Heck he didn't know what inside his house looked like. He could never eat downstairs with his family only upstairs inside his tiny dull room. Clive never gained any hobbies since he was always by himself. His room didn't have anything besides his bed he never left and a empty bedside cabinet. An empty room that fit and empty person is what Clive liked to say. He thought it was funny, really funny. Comparing himself to his ugly bare room. Clive was negative ever since he was little and till the end. In the tiny room looking out the window at the same scenery.
