I watched them run from my small pitiful excuse of a house. There were girls and boys; teens and adults. They're called the "Wild Ones". Everyday at the same very spot they'd come running through our village. To some they bring joy,others nuisance. You'd see little ones who's mimic them from time to time. Apparently they're our hero. But as I stare at them from my small window I've grown to notice something eerie about them. Watching something everyday you'd think you'd notice every possible detail that the eye could capture but I couldn't. That's what off. You know the feeling when someone is too perfect. My mother would tell me "Even a white rose has a shadow". A dark secret that no one is suppose to know. The same questions repeat in my mind. "Why isn't everyone a wild one?", "How can you even be a wild one?". I've tried to tell other people about my theories but they'd blow me off as a lunatic. My mother has warned me that I shouldn't think such things. That I shouldn't step out of boundaries as a child. But I believe I know what i'm talking about. The smartest people can seem like idiots to other idiots.