In a forest, a boy, sitting on a log in a clearing, ponders his existence. Things are always the same. He thinks of the torture, the pain, the anguish of his everyday life. He considers the teasing and the bullying, the pressure, and the ennui. But most of all, he dwells on the loneliness. He has no friends, no companions, not even any acquaintances. He's a loner--he, himself, and him, all alone in this cold world.
In town, the boy, sitting in a chair in the school office, ponders his existence. Noting a flier for a local group therapy session, he scoffs. No one understands his struggle. No one can relate to him. Hell, no one even tries. He's a loner--he, himself, and him, all alone in this cold world.
In the forest, just like every day, the boy approaches his log. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something new. A carving on a tree. Long ago, in despair, he had carved a note reflecting his feelings. However, what he saw was not what he remembered. A new mark. Just two words: "What's wrong?"
A flurry of emotion sweeps over him. Embarrassment, relief, doubt, clarity, happiness, sadness. But most of all, confusion. He looked around. Had someone really found his spot? What did they want? Did they really care? Did someone... care?