Once upon a time, there lived a rich young boy who had never gone beyond the walls of his house. And the ten years he lived? He was perfectly content with it, thank you very much. He never knew more than the geography of his own home, having never stepped outside, but he never really minded. To him, life was sleeping and waking up and playing and bathing and going to bed right after the sun went down. He lived with fifty people, none of whom cared enough, because they weren't relatives, and his parents died in untold circumstances years before he had even realized he was a boy.

He was everyone's dream and everyone's nightmare, and he was everything everyone wanted to be and not to be. He was satisfied with his life being an irony. But his contentment was shattered when he was faced with the magic of uncertainty and awe.

He once met an old man who knocked upon their door one cold, stormy night. The man was turned away, as all old and poor people were when they came asking for help, but when the doors were shut, the little boy ran to the windows, opened them wide, and called out to the old man: "Come! Stay inside!"

The old man looked back, neared the windows, and smiled as he said, "Inside is nothing but inside, son. Outside proves much more of a venture. It is warm in there, and warmth I need... but the people are cold. I would do better unbarred outside in cold weather than inside with walls of living ice."

All throughout the years the old man’s words haunted the boy. He came to realize that the more he lived the way he did, the more he seemed to dwindle away.

And yet the walls were his only friend, and the silence his only comfort.