In every group, big or small, there is always a person who sits alone in the back, not engaging in conversation. This person is surrounded by peers, yet is isolated and listening to the mumbled conversation going on around him.

They call him names. Freak. Loser. They speak of him as if he were a thousand miles away or deaf to their harsh words. He's not deaf. He's numb. At least to the public...

This kind of solitude gnaws on the very essence of one's soul. Tears him limb from limb inside his head. His mind rages with contempt for others and himself. He is defaced, demeaned, disserviced and imprisoned for crimes he did not commit.

And this loner, this freak, the one you can not see unless you look for him or her, cries. He knows many truths about them all. Their security, their futures, yet no one listen. They refuse to hear, refuse to acknowledge.

He is a disease, highly contagious. They must all keep their distance for fear that they will become infected. So he is left alone, but only physically. He can still hear the critisizm, if one could call the cruel words such a thing. It echoes inside his head like banshees.

Nobody knows why he is alone, no one knows why they speak of him this way, no one bothers to ask. No one knows who he is. They do not realize that you must know someone, before you can shun them. No one knows that the laughter will never subside.