It's raining again.
            I guess I should go outside and take a look? That would mean I had some sort of freedom to do so.
         That means I would have to sneak out of my chained up bedroom, just to get a look at what the heavens cry is like.
       It's sobbing loud, screaming even, it's rage darting straight down to hell with its bolts of anger.
             It doesn't usually storm like this, no, not at all.
    My mother is calling me, says I need to come downstairs and eat dinner. Probably made meatloaf and a casserole, I've grown sick of the shit.
           I've grown sick of being locked in here like some monster, because of the color in my skin.
         I'm afraid Stone, I'm afraid they won't accept you.
      My mother has always been afraid of what's beyond our front door. But all I've seen is an out.
        All I have seen these seventeen years of my life, every time I glance out of the window in hopes it'd shatter amongst my skin, is life.
        A life beyond my own, worthy of the challenges, and it's imperfections, I only wished to be out there.
     But I'm different, and I've heard that the world does not like anything that is unexplainable.
     "Stone!"
      There she goes again, well I best get going now, before she sends my father.
        He doesn't like when mother has to repeat herself.
  They're good for each other. Yet, no one else besides me and my brother's see it that way.
My mother says the world is a shame, they don't ever want ya unless you're like the others.
    They're all the same.

I somehow forgotten the time.
     More so, I just never gave my eyes the break to actually glance at a clock.
             Maybe had I have did, I could've eased my way back down to reality.
    It's 2016, not 1968.
          We have smartphones, and books we can read online. Social media, things this world would fiend like heathens had we gone without.
            But Stone, fiend for a different fix.
    To be free, to live free, to think free, to laugh without being looked questionably upon. To walk outside of his home uncovered, unleashed, like a life hungry beast.
                I've been at it for hours, but it's felt like days, living in his words, feeling deeply.
         As he was angry, and sad, he never seemed to write down the moments where he was happiest.
               Just the ones where he was the most heart broken.
   Now I wonder did he ever feel the feeling of happiness?
            I know he tried to.
     He was stripped of hope, and instead dressed in disaster.
     Words that have been used countless of times in multitudes of sentences, seemed to have been one of a kind.
               They were making their official debut in The Heart Of Stone.
    Put on display beautifully, as I watched and observed intently, taking notes, in hopes of one day moving a person to the heavens, to hell, and maybe to life itself.
     Yet as time ticked, and ticked away, I reached the destination.
   The one I only hoped, gripping anxiously to the torn binding with my chipped nails, was that this....
   This was not the end.