reat a person as you treat thyself,
and to thineself be true
For you never when the taunts
May be turned back at you

The boy was thinking. Thinking about what the kids at school had said today. And the day before. Their screeching, mocking laughter; oh so taunting, rang in his ears. It was all he could hear, in his wretched world of slow, painful doom. The daggers in his heart were stabbing harder than ever before. He thought about his parents, remembering...remembering how perfect and safe he had felt in his mother's warm, loving arms while his father chuckled quietly above, his gentle, merry eyes twinkling. How he had loved those eyes. They never hardened or became cold and unfriendly; were always welcoming and light. Yes, he could remember...but they had left, hadn't they? They hadn't cared, or they would have thought about the consequences. Grown-ups couldn't make mistakes; they couldn't afford to; they were saints, weren't they? Weren't they? The pain intensified, growing more insistent, demanding, suffocating him.

Now, who was that crying? Was it him? No, only the weak cried. Only the weak broke down and surrendered. The brave suffered in silence, letting no one share their grief. Besides, nobody would understand anyway. He knew. He had tried reaching out for help. They didn't care. Just like his parents.

"Are you sure? Bullying? No, no, it can't be, the children at your school are angels! Honestly, don't be so melodramatic, Brian! People used to tease me too! I remember one time at my school..."
Teasing was bearable at a certain level. Teasing wasn't pushing someone over when you knew they couldn't get up. It wasn't shoving their books onto the floor when you knew they couldn't reach them there. It wasn't lying to the oblivious, ignorant teacher about it all being a 'Total accident, Ma'am, I'm sorry' and repeating the 'accidents' again every single day.

A bitter tear fell. Feeble. He was feeble, that was what he was, blubbering like a newborn. Frail. No wonder everyone didn't like him. It was all his fault. The boy sat in the quiet, listening to the beating of his heart. Why did he bother existing? Living a life of ridicule and torment. To be shunned and discriminated against eternally. Why? Why?

An anguished, frustrated yell pierced through the night. The boy went over to the window and leaned his head on the cool glass, gazing out at the deserted plains surrounding the one-storey house, and beyond that, the darkened forest. He had been staring into space blankly for quite some time when a movement near the wood caught his eye. What was that? Something was dashing towards him. It was... a horse. Escaped, from one of the farms, most likely, the boy thought. He watched it for awhile longer. It's coat is so white...dazzling bright, in fact...and that horn on it's head makes it look really majestic...wait...horn?

The supposed horse came properly into view then. The moonlight illuminated it's sleek, not white; but the purest of silver coat. It's long, silky tail swished in a regular, calm motion. The horn on it's head reached out grandly, gracing the night air. It was beautiful.
It was a unicorn.

Jerking awake from his reverie, the boy hurried out to the porch as fast as he could. And there, standing patiently right in front of him, was the unicorn. It had apparently come around from the back of the house to meet him at the doorway.

Looking into the unicorn's deep, sentimental eyes, the boy suddenly felt extremely composed and relaxed, not finding it strange at all to have a supposedly fictional legendary creature right in front of him.
The boy gave a small smile, which the unicorn apparently took as a sign of friendship. It moved closer to him and nuzzled the back of his palm gently, it's mane rippling slightly from the movement. It then looked up and stared straight into his eyes. The boy wondered what it could want, and gazed back. It's eyes were full of assurance and trust. Almost like his father's... He could see now. It was beseeching him...seeking permission. The boy hesitated for a moment, before glancing again at the unicorn and giving a slow, but decisive nod.

The unicorn gave a soft, comforting neigh and stood completely still. It emitted a curious whitish glow, and began to trail it's horn briefly over his arms and legs. This having been done, the glow faded and it stepped back and waited patiently. It looked more mystical than ever, bathed in the faint twilight, mist gathering around it's hooves. The boy took a final look back at his home for the past thirteen years; then at the unicorn and the acres of open, empty pasture. It was then that he knew what he had to do.

The boy breathed deeply, feeling exhilarated. He put his weight on his arms, pushing against the arm rests of his wheelchair and attempted to stand. He wobbled shakily. He breathed in again, and took few unsteady steps. At this point, the boy suddenly realised he was actually walking. A bubble of joyous laughter broke out from deep within him. He hadn't laughed for a long while; had forgotten how pleasurable it was. The unicorn tossed it's mane and reared up on it's hind legs in delight. The boy made his way persistently to the unicorn's side and leaned against it for support, stroking it's brilliant, shimmery coat. He met it's eyes. It was time. The unicorn bent down low and he mounted, though rather clumsily and after a few unsuccessful tries. Regaining his balance, he grasped the unicorn's elegantly arched neck, bracing himself for what was to come. I'm ready, he thought. And the unicorn seemed to hear. A melodious whinny broke the silence of the night, as Brian and his forbearing aide rode swiftly into the forest, vanishing into the thick veil of mist, concealing them from the outside world forever.

Prologue:
The Times, 16th October
The entire town is mystified with the sudden disappearance of 14-year-old Brian Goodman on the night of the 14th of October. Brian is an orphan who was adopted by Daniel and Martha Thomas when he was a year old; after his parents were involved in a fatal accident when they were drink driving after a night out in celebration of Brian's birth.

A tearful Mrs. Thomas told the press, "We have given him our best ...We moved to this house out in the country so he wouldn't grow up feeling cramped in our former apartment in the city...took extra courses to get better jobs to pay for the rent... had the doors and windows fixed with an instalment which allows him to open them by pressing buttons on his wheelchair...And he was perfectly happy; he had no troubles...except for a little teasing at school, he mentioned, but nothing extreme, I'm sure...Oh, I miss him so..." But what is most mysterious about this case is the lack of evidence. Authorities confirm that there was no forced entry, which would have been difficult in the first place as the Thomas residence is specially equipped with hi-tech security alarms. The only thing out of the ordinary, they say, is Brian's wheelchair positioned on the porch.
"But it must have been a kidnapping or something else," the chief of the police said. "Brian couldn't have run away...he has cerebral palsy."
And so the investigation continues.

Author's Note: Cerebral Palsy (CP) is a condition that effects the brain. The problem usually occurs before the baby is born, and the doctors don't know why. People with CP have trouble controlling their muscles and may not be able to walk, talk and eat normally, depending on which part of the brain was affected. In this story, Brian's CP condition is cured by a unicorn. The horn of a unicorn has healing powers. This is not possible in real life; it will take more research and miracle medicines. Meanwhile, people who have CP just undergo therapy, and it's not their fault they have this ailment. That's partly why I wrote this short poem and story...remember, everyone is equal.