[ WP ] `` They call us monsters , son . ''

His father sat alone in the study again about to crack open another book when the boy walked in. 
 `` Why do n't we ever go outside Dad?'' the boy asked curious. 
 The father put down the book and took his glasses off and pondered for a second what is an appropriate age to squash aspirations? He gestured for him to sit in his lap and the boy walked over to him. His beard tickled the boys face a little. At least he could be his son's warmth in the world. 
 `` It's cold outside, son,'' he said softly 
 `` Is n't spring supposed to be warm'' 
 `` It can be but I have n't seen a warm one in ages'' 
 The boy tilted his head in confusion. He's gone in the backyard plenty of times but it was never too cold. 
 `` But why do other kids play outside with one another?'' 
 `` Because they can keep each other warm.'' 
 `` Could n't they keep me warm too?'' 
 `` They could but they stopped liking people like us a long time ago.'' 
 `` Why?'' 
 `` Because it's a cold world and even as the seasons change the people never do.'' 
 `` Will they not like me?'' 
 `` Unfortunately son, they will never try to know you'' 
 `` How do you know?'' 
 `` Because they call us monsters, son.'' 
 He looked into his son's bright purple eyes filled with hope in this world. Filled with the naiveté that is taught in fairytales. He stared at his son's pale skin, just as white as his own. If only the world could be pure as him. 

