'Lose not faith in your hour of despair.

Since the beginning of man, the

darkness has always been followed

by the light.'

-Joe Fazio

(Brief renderings)

Morning crept up with a crushing wind and what seemed to be the very last leaf of Autumn had fallen from a maple tree. The yellow-brown thing fluttered wildly through the gust as if it were a hummingbird that had just discovered a sea of hollyhocks. Three steel bars, separated by one foot of open space and four walls around, stood against the gusty wind in line of the drifting leaf. For many long years, not much had ever entered or exited that guarded space which resided in the middle of a tall, thick, decrepit wall. It appeared as if it were enveloped in crusted blood from the dark orange rust. Though, it was not blood. It was more so a glaring portrait. A masterful painting of a carelessness and blatant disregard for common upkeep that could dishearten the ghastliest of men. The building rested in the middle of nowhere, nestled within many acres of trees and hills. The only cleanliness to be found were the forests and rivers, cleansed sparingly over time by mother nature.

The maple leaf, riding on a trail of wind northward, glided softly between the steel beams in the large wall, and into William's room. The room, which was barely one at all, resembled a small dungeon or prison cell without the barred door which may give any contact to people on the other side. William woke from his sleep just as it landed. It was almost as if he knew something had appeared in his room that should not have been there. When he looked down from his pillow and onto his long, slender, frail body, he noticed it. Upon his right leg, perched slightly upwards and out of the dirty white bed sheet he used for covers, was the leaf.

He felt an odd sensation of curiosity and then, quickly after, a feeling of guilt.

"This isn't right," William uttered, "how do I hide you from Him?"

William hadn't seen anything of the outside world in so long that even the simplest of things would astound him. A few times over the years he had seen insects enter his room which would die within hours or days. He'd touch them and toss them a little. One nearly became his next snack after a particularly long stint without food. Usually, though, they were like tiny visitors from the world beyond the window; stopping by to say hello before their stomachs, too, became too empty.

He would see sunlight or moonlight gleam through the barred window if you could call it such a name. One time he witnessed a small, red bird land on the edge for only a few seconds before taking flight to who knows where.

"A Flying Red!" He named it, years before.

The truth was, even the birds would have nothing to do with that hole in the wall. The small opening was so high up that William could never hope to see outside of it, see the world which lay just beyond the walls. William's world was in that room.

The window was his only way of knowing day from night. The window was his only form of air conditioning. The only contact from anything besides himself, insects, and Father. It was his calendar, his air, his contact, his dreaded nightmare, and his grandest dream. Of all the things he had the pleasure of seeing enter through that hole, it was never such a beautiful sight as that fragile leaf.

In late-Autumn, it was still clinging onto its colors like a starving man with a bread loaf. William shot up and snatched it from his leg. He held it up to his nose and sucked in through his thin nostrils, which hadn't smelled anything that fine in so long as he could remember. Holding the maple leaf, William knew that he must dispose of it. Having in his possession any item remotely interesting was strictly forbidden, even if it had entered without permission. This was easier said than done, however, as he had no way of getting it back through the hole.