He sits in his room. His paper white and unused. His pencil still in his hand. His eyes filled with sorrow as he stares, while his pencil hovers over the white sheet. He glances out his window at the other building that sits across from his apartment complex.
"Write about your life...." he mouths. He closes his hazel eyes. Trying to figure out this school paper as he opens his eyes. "What life?" he whispers, then puts his pencil down. He leans back in his chair, looking up at the white popcorn ceiling. He doesn't remember any joyful memories. He tries, but can't. He doesn't really know why he can't. Sure, His parents worked all the time and