Every young boy

"What are little boys made of?

What are little boys made of?

          Slugs and snails

          And puppy-dogs' tails,

That's what little boys are made of."

He lightly pressed the blade on his soft skin, a viscous and consistently liquid came through the slit. "There's nothing like this inside of me" he thought, "no slugs, snails or puppy-dogs' tails... What am I made of?". He calmly led his lips to the viscous liquid that insisted to get out, almost shy now, but insistent enough to slip through his fragile skin. "What am I made of...?". He would like to be like every other young boy of his age... so why he was transforming into something like this? Surrounded by people but feeling alone, always feeling apart from others , always feeling different. Nobody would ever be able to understand it, this feeling of being different in so many ways. How was it possible for one human being feel this way? The reason behind all this might actually be something that nobody could ever understand even in their wildest dreams or in the vastness of a deep anger.

At school he was the most intelligent and studious one. All his mates praised him and surrounded him with talks and laughs trying to get his attention, but he didn't really cared about that. 

When asked what he wanted to be when he grow up, as other boys always had 3 different answers, he always kept only one: "I want to be a scientist". "Why a scientist?" people asked, "because scientists can discover things... they can figured out everything.". To the most of the people he was a bright and silent boy who kept a world of his own, a kid beside his age, a child with a bright future.

What a commotion. That day was a commotion. It was a chilly and foggy day when in a backyard of an old and abandoned house, cracked by the time and by the mustiness, far away from the neighborhood, a little boy with a little hatchet was squatting down, looking at a snail that was moving slowly on the dry grass. But there was something different about that scenario. When an old man saw the boy among the fog, he stepped into something that made a familiar sound of wet grass, as if it had rained the last night, but it hasn't. Step by step the man waved his arms in front of himself, trying to remove the fog and see better. That day was a commotion. Beside the bright boy, a boy not much older than him was laying on the soaked grass by blood that looked almost black because of the weather. "What am I made of?", whispered looking at the snail.

Suddenly the boy dropped the hatchet and crawling towards the dead body starting to lick the blood. The man let out a shriek of horror and the boy turned to him with bulging eyes and wide open mouth leting out a shrill squeak. The man ran away, screaming that the bright boy had gone insane.

When a group of man arrived the old cracked house, there was nothing but a dead body, a little hatchet and a black cat covered in blood. The cat looked at those man in panic with confused eyes and giving a low meow that seemed a slight chuckle it turned quickly and ran, disappearing into the fog.