On one side of a busy street stands a home. The exterior is warm and welcoming; in the large front yard grow beautiful flowering trees. The grass is uneven and green in some places. There is a small garden filled with flowers and vegetables. The late evening sun bathes the home in a magical golden orange hue.
Through the large windows the cheerful home is glowing. In the living room a family is eating their dinner, merry talk and laughter can be heard. The smiles are true. As they finish, the dishes are put away, and the merry laughter continues. The parents try to get the younger children to get ready for bed as the eldest child heads to their room for homework. A perfect family, a lovely home. Happy people.
A door opens and in a lit up room stands an oak desk, papers scattered on the floor and desk. Homework by the looks of it. A yellow backpack is lying on the bed. The walls are a cheery blue; a beautiful picture of the galaxy is hung on the wall. Otherwise, the room is empty.
Or so it seems.
On one wall is a closed closet door. Within the closet there is a figure curled up into a ball. Not a sound they make. Tears trickle down from the eyes. The figure is shaking. Memories from earlier that day swirl through their brain. The snide smile of the bully. The comments that echoed throughout the room. The evil glares that were received. The line of tears becomes a river, cascading down the red cheeks. The sadness within the small closet is suffocating. A sound is finally made. A soft whisper, no louder then a whispering wind.