Spinning, spinning, spinning; around and around the ceiling fan went, hypnotizing the boy who was sitting alone in the corner of his room. He didn't have any idea how long he'd been sitting there, knees hugged to his chest, chin resting on the crook between them-- all he knew was that he was alone and had been for some time. He didn't know why he was alone. He wondered why every few minutes. But nothing would change it, not wishing nor hoping- because he was alone not because he'd shut himself off from the world and wandered away, but because he was abandoned.

Abandoned. It's a nine letter word and can mean more than one thing. Perhaps it's a dusty cabin in the middle of the woods that looks like it hasn't been lived in for years. Maybe it's a person who seems to have lost all sense of what made them human.

All he knew was that one of the things it could describe was him.

He really wished he knew what he'd done to make them leave him, what he could have done to keep them from doing so- maybe it was because he was constantly so negative, not only about himself but about his surroundings. Maybe it was because he was so picky and didn't think things were good enough unless they were perfect. Maybe it was because he was so protective and would only accept the best for those he was close to. Or maybe it was just because he himself just wasn't enough. Not enough, never enough, never enough, never enough.

Abandoned.

He should be used to it by now. It wasn't like this was the first time. Growing up had been nothing but abandonment after abandonment- parents, friends, teachers, happiness. So why had he been so stupid to think this would be any different? They would always stay for a while, they'd always tell him how special he was to them and that they'd never leave... and then they'd take it back as fast as fire when they no longer agreed. He should have expected it. He shouldn't have been so trusting.

Their promise had fallen through, and he was the one trapped alone under the rubble.

In the end, it was his fault for not running away before everything had crumbled apart- and that was all he could think about, staring at the ceiling fan above his head.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.