He turns. And he turns back again. And again. And again, and again, and again- 'Please let me wake up from this nightmare'. 

They were no longer bustling teeneragers, or rosy-cheeked children running amongst other children wielding wooden sticks and kicking up dirt - no longer was it the times in which they could go about playing soccer until the sun settled down. The grass-stained knees and dirty socks - robots and kites and paper lanterns and broken crayons - all memories. Time grew on them, and it showed. They weren't you