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He has kept the telephone by his side all this time. Some semblance of hope, perhaps.

He knows exactly how many times it has rung in the past decade.

Every call has started with a ring that startled him badly, and every call has ended in tears.

Still he clutches the telephone like it means the world to him. It does.

"I don't know why, doctor... I...

"They are laughing at me, you know. I know they are. I can see their thoughts - they know I'm different. I... Those times I hid, I just couldn't take it...

A long pause. Grit teeth and a long exhale.

"Sorry, where was I? Yes I just couldn't take it... I couldn't handle others, I didn't know what to do... I mean I could bloody understand it all... But... I was different... And I knew that they knew.

"And everytime I got close to someone I hurt them. Doctor, you ever experienced this? You get close to someone and end up hurting him? No? You don't know? Everytime, you know.... Every single stupid time."

There is a long silence as he waits for the doctor to reply.

It starts as a low baritone growl, then a snort, then... sudddenly peal after peal of laughter pours out from the receiver. Never ending streams of cruel laughter cutting deep into his heart like knives. Accusing laughter, condemning laughter, the laughter against someone who's different. The laughter that doesn't care.

He takes it all in... His hand is trembling; he twitches in the disability to accept the pain; slowly, slowly he puts the receiver down.

And he stares blankly at the wall.

He has no more tears left.

He threw the key away many, many years ago.