The night was settling in- and it was becoming very apparent. The vibrant orange clouds that were there were now various shades of gray. The hill he sat upon was moist with the cold drops of the earth's sweat. It was considerably dark for that time of year. He was beginning to get a bad feeling within his chest. With teeth clenched tight together, his hands gripped the grass below him.
Sure, turmoil found his way into his life. But never so badly that it physically affected him to this point. The point that he wanted his body to be marked and scarred- mutilated. Something from within him was devouring his he never could find out what it was. This made it only worse.

Finally then, he decided. I've never been to the bottom of that hill. He made his way done and discovered his sense of adventure. He then wanted to know what was beyond the next hill- and the one after that. He was independent- not relying on anyone or anything to live. He was free. Needless to say, he never came back "home".