It was a sunny afternoon. The sun shone brightly against the cloudless blue sky, and the air was just warm enough to be slightly uncomfortable to be outside but not impossibly hot. A mild, cool breeze rushed past every so often, seemingly in a fruitless attempt to keep the temperature down. However, this all went unnoticed by the person standing on top of the grassy hill side, over looking the valley below them. They stood with their head up against the breeze, their eyes closed as if wishing and waiting for something to happen. To them, all of the world stood still. Time was frozen in place. The sky was not a clear blue but a cloudy grey. In fact, the clouds were such a dark grey, one might have expected a down pour in the near future, but it did not rain. Not a single drop fell from the sky. Everything was still, as if afraid to breathe.

The person drew a ragged breath in and slowly let it out between their tightly sealed lips, resulting in a soft whistling sound. Then they stood silent for a few moments longer, listening to the wind from the world outside of their creation. A particularly more gusty wind blew past them, and they tilted their head slightly to the side. "Yes, I thought you might have come," The person said with a small, pained smile. "You wanted to hear what happened, didn't you?" Their eyes remained closed as if they were in some sort of trance.

They waited for a few moments in expectation of a response.

They sighed, and their smile faltered. A single drop of water fell on them from their dark sky. "Very well, but it won't be easy for me to explain."

They sat down on the grass and smoothed over the patches closest to them. The sunny hill side with dry grass; the cloudy one with grass dripping in mildew. They positioned their head back up toward the sky, but still, their eyes did not open. "I suppose it could be explained like this. He is only a boy, barely nine-years-old. When I look at him, I see bright lights and stars. A path to the moon and beyond is lit up with millions of fireflies, dancing around in the night. They dance to their own music played by a soft violin. The musician, himself, is dancing to the beat in a fashion none have seen before but would find fascinating if they stopped to look close enough just for a moment.

"I look at him, and I see English classrooms in the far future. Years and years after we're all dead and gone. I see students groaning to their friends about how they have to study plays written so many years ago that are comparable with another playwright years before him named Shakespeare. I see the teacher shake their head in mild disapointament. How were they going to instill in their students the importance and the value of such awe inspiring literature?

"But then I look at him, and I see fire. Not the beautiful dancing flames of the fireflies as they light up the sky. No, this is a different fire. A fire that comes from a bolt of lightening striking a lonely tree on the top of a hill side with bullets of rain flying and raging winds roaring. This is a fire that screams into the night in the hopes that someone will hear. Someone will understand. But it's screams are drowned out by the thunderous laughter of the storm swirling around it. The tree burns to ashes, and the fire keeps on screaming, spreading out to do more unintentional destruction. It didn't ask for the lightening to provoke the tree. It didn't ask to be born in a raging fury. It screams in the hope someone or something can stop it, but all are afraid to go near it. And now the tree is broken. Damaged. Demolished. With no hope of being the same."

The person paused. The grey sky let loose a few more rain drops on to their face. They wiped their cheeks absent mindedly. Still, their eyes remained closed. Still, they kept their face pointed to the sky.

They took another rattling breath before continuing. "The sad thing is, no matter how much I see the fireflies and the classrooms, I cannot make him see it. I don't know what he sees, but I can guess. He doesn't see the path to the moon and beyond. He doesn't see the stars glittering in the night sky with dancing fireflies and soft violin music. He doesn't see his potential to be the next Shakespeare though with time and a bit of practice he could be. He sees the lonely tree on the hill side, looking down at the valley below filled with houses and townspeople.

"He sees the fire, though I don't quite think he sees it the way I do. He sees the tree starting the fire even if that logically doesn't make sense. He recognizes the lightening and the storm, but he sees the tree starting it all. He knows it doesn't make sense. A tree cannot control weather or fire, but the townspeople blame the tree so often that he automatically assumes without a doubt the tree did it, even for something as simple as a fly flying up someone's nose! He automatically fears the fly will kill the townsperson, and either the fly or the townsperson will come after the tree and cut it down. After the irrational moment has passed and nothing was destroyed, he recognizes at the time it was not the tree's fault and the fly couldn't have killed the townsperson. However, when the next fly flies up the next nose, the cycle repeats itself, adding an extra charge to the lightening that will strike down the tree.

"He sees the destruction of the fire. He sees the fire laying waste to the land. He believes the tree has done it, but he also sees that the tree didn't mean for it to happen. The tree screams out for help to stop the flames, but the townspeople either ignore it or blame the tree for purposely trying to harm them without helping it or finding a solution to solve the problem. Soon, the tree wishes to be struck by lightening. 'Let the lightening turn me to ash,' it thinks. 'Maybe the townspeople would like it better if I were used for their kindling, or even if I was just gone all together in a useless pile of dust.' This is what he sees.

"He does not see the potential for any future."

The sun continued to glare, hotter than ever, making a sheen of sweat glisten on the back their neck, yet at the same time, a clap of thunder rolled quietly across the dark clouds. The person let in a shuddering breath, and their body seemed to convulse a little in protest.

"Now we both see some of the same things when it comes to the reality of it all in this very moment. We both see white walls and locked doors. Burning white lights and locked, probably bullet proof windows seems to be the new reality. After that, I don't know what he sees. Perhaps he still sees a lonely tree on a hill side, except this time, the village is not there. Maybe he sees a lonely tree with no longer a hill side to stand on. Possibly, he sees a lonely tree with cords tying the branches to the ground. Or maybe he sees a lonely tree in a field of other lonely trees, trying to get by.

"I know what I see isn't any of those things. I see a blurry photograph of a lonely tree on a hill side. The tree's branches are reaching out of the photograph, but the barrier between me and the tree is too great. It is almost impossible to break through the barrier of the paper the picture is printed on and the time that separates me from the tree on the hill side. When I am able to overcome the barrier, it is only for a brief moment, and in that moment, I am not brought to the hill side. I am brought to a tree locked in a bright white room with it's branches tied to the walls. I can never decide what's worse, the photograph or the room."

The person wiped their cheeks again. This time they reached all the way up to their eyes. The already grey sky had turned darker, and a steady rain was now falling on top of them. They did nothing to protect their face. They kept their eyes shut tight, and they focused on taking shaky breaths in and out. In and out.

"Oh gods, he doesn't even understand what love is!" The rain fell harder, and another clap of thunder rolled across the sky. "He is so smart, but he cannot grasp the concept of what it means for us to love him! He only sees the lonely tree on the hill side that wants to be struck by lightening when in reality, there is an entire hill supporting the tree to stand up straight and tall. Sure, the tree may be sick, but the hill doesn't support it any less. It nurtures it and helps it grow to the stars because the tree can, but he doesn't see it. All he sees is the signs for the next lightening storm, wondering if this will be the one to take the tree."

The storm was now a full fledged arsenal of destruction. Rain poured down in buckets. Lightening flashed clear across the sky in a blinding fury. Thunder boomed liked a giant's racing heart. Wind howled in pain and agony. The entire sky was one long-lasting, deafening scream.

"You know what the worst part of watching him suffer like this is? It's not that we can't fix it. It's not that he has all of these issues and labels, some of which fit him and some of which don't, in a desperate attempt to help him get the help he needs. It's not even that he is only nine-years-old. Those three facts hurt like hell, but no, that isn't the worst part. The worst part is knowing he is so smart. He is a literal genius with an IQ close to Einstein's. He is a natural at playing the violin for the little that he's learned, and he comes up with the most creative and fantastical plays. He has so much potential and a big heart and he could do great things in this world. He can change it for the better and have a good, long, fulfilling life, but then also knowing he may not live long enough to do those things because he doesn't see the worth in himself."

The wind died down, and the storm broke. A small glimmer of sunshine poked out between the clouds. The person's face is soaked and torn up, but it was still pointed to the sky. Their eyes were still closed.

"He only sees the lonely tree on the hill, and nothing we have done or can do, it seems, can make him see anything different. Even if I try to stand on the hill next to it, to him, the tree will still be alone. Always."

The person finally stood up and opened their eyes. The grey sky immediately disappearing from view as they blinked in the sun shine of reality. While their world may have been grey in their mind, it was still spinning with sunlight around them. It never truly stopped to listen to their story, and no one else seemed to be on the hill top to have heard it. That didn't seem to bother them. Perhaps they knew they were talking to no one. Maybe they had imagined a person there to talk to. It was also a possibility that they were just another person with a broken mind that the townspeople decided to throw out because they didn't like what they didn't understand and couldn't see for themselves. Whatever the case, the person kicked up some dirt where they were sitting and planted a seed into the ground. They covered it back up and wiped one final drop of water from their face before adding the water onto the ground where they put the seed. They stood up again and walked down the hill without looking back. One of the branches of the only tree on the hill waved at them in the breeze. Next to the tree, the seed nestled deeper into the warmth of the ground. One day, it knew, it would become another tree, and the lonely tree on the hill would not be so lonely anymore.