Monsters Inc.

he had not slept for days. and nights. through the night he would be up, sitting by the window in his room with the door closed. the closed door, behind which was the calm and peaceful world, deep in sleep, oblivious to his state of mind. for the world, he was just another normal kid, who would wake up sometime to open the door and be a part of their grown up world. he had other plans.
he was supposed to be sleeping, dreaming of fairies and monsters. he was not. he was wide awake but the monsters, they were still there. it was surprising, even for him that he was not uncomfortable in their presence. that could have been one of the reasons he could not sleep. but then he had become used to them, they were surprisingly friendly. he was there, merrying away with the people he had always thought of, or rather was told of, of being from a different world. the world, he had never thought he would have to encounter and even if he had to, he could never be a part of. but now he did not know if he was in their world or they had come in his. just the fact that they were there was both worrying and soothing for him at the same time. worrying because he had to make sure that no one outside came to know of their presence with him. they were not thought of as good people by the ones outside. infact they were not even people for them. they were demons, or as they said, monsters. soothing, because he found them comfortably friendly, a fact that, as previously mentioned, had startled him a lot in the beginning but not anymore. he had realised that the people outside were maybe unaware of the truth, since they had never met his new friends, they had their misconceptions, they were unaware of the pleasures of the company of these monsters. well, even for him the monsters may not had been as pure as white and he was sometimes scared that behind their grotesque but friendly smiles could have lied malicious intent, he didnt mind as long he had fun with them, he didnt mind even if they talked about things he never could have imagined he would talk about, he didnt mind the stupidly violent games he used to play with them. he was peculiarly amused by the game they played all night.
all they did was sit in a circle, and punch the person on their left as hard as they could. the game carried on with different formations of the circles. although he was hurt a lot, he enjoyed the game as much as his fellow players did, maybe even more. every punch, every bleeding nose, was followed by mad bouts of laughter. he loved it. he had not laughed like that for ages. maybe never. he would smile whenever the "normal" people would scowl when they looked at him. he would smile when they looked at him and he knew they could tell. they could see the scars. maybe they could tell exactly what was going on. but as long as they preferred to ignore it, not talk about it, he could do nothing but smile, at them, at their plight, at their loss, at their boringly normal materialistic lives.
he didnt have to keep doing that for long. he was summoned one day. he was made to talk. he was asked if anything was wrong, anything out of the ordinary, if he had been meeting "those" people. he was not the timid little boy anymore. he had replied in the affirmative. that day had been hell. whenever he cared to notice they would still be shouting at him, hurling threats, pursuasions, sentiments. he was amazed at how much they wanted him to give it all up. he failed to understand why were they so scared. maybe they were not, it could have been something else. they were more afraid of other people coming to know about it, worried about reputations. he didnt care. all he wanted was to take his own decisions, decide his own friends. he just wanted to tell them that he hated all of them, their pretentious love, their opportunistic care, their conditional outpourings. he did not want to be a part of their stupid world and if it meant going away with his friends, he was game for it. he did not need his folks anymore as much as they thought he did. he might not had been the timid little boy anymore, but he could not say any of this. he just preferred to keep shut, as always, but silence for him had never been surrender. he had always thought of as silence as the tool of the mighty. he had always been mystefied by the power of the unsaid. but it really didnt matter that day what he thought. all he understood that day was he was not supposed to meet his friends and no playing silly games with them. he had other plans.
that night had been a blast. the door was still closed, nothing could ever open the door, and he knew that. he had waited for his friends more eagerly than usual, was delighted to see them, brimming with enthusiasm to play his favourite game. had played it with unmatched fervour. that night had been the best night of his life. every punch took him higher up into heaven. he just could not stop laughing and behind that laughter, shouts of harder, harder. his friends had obliged.
the morning after had been very quiet. he had not come out of his room even for his daily chores. after a frustarting, endless wait, his folks had called up on him. he had not replied. as much as they tried, he just kept quiet. more "normal" people had been called, the door was broken down. the scene inside was something they hadnt seen coming. he was gone.
he had died. the punches had been too hard to take. there was still a smile on his face. of delight.
the monster also lied there by his side. dope. the boy had died of an overdose of friends.