There once lived a lonely little boy, who sat in a lonely little house, on a lonely little hill, in his own lonely little world.

And the lonely little boy in the lonely little house was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Isolated from everyone and everything he had once held dear.

But he had not always been alone. Once he had experienced never being alone, but that was in the time before the Time.

In a different time, in a different world, on a different hill, in a different house, sat a different little boy. A little boy surrounded by people, at all times of the day. A little boy who did know what it meant to be a lonely little boy, who sat in a lonely little house, on a lonely little hill, in his own lonely little world.

This different little boy was not a particularly happy little boy, though. In fact, he was rather miserable. For you see, this boy did not know what it meant to have peace. Having been surrounded by hustle and bustle and chaos his entire life, he had never experienced tranquility and the feeling that in one moment, his world was his, and his alone.

Sometimes being alone is a good feeling. But the boy did not know that. He knew only that constant hustle and bustle. He looked to a day when it would all stop, and he could learn what it meant to be at peace with oneself and one's environment and to hear one's own thoughts.

Every night this little boy would pray to whomever was listening, and this was a great many people in his mind as a great many people surrounded him and heard him as he said his prayers, that he could have some peace and quiet.

He waited, day in and day out, and years passed, but he still knew no meaning of the word peace. And slowly, but surely, the unhappy little boy turned into an unhappy youth, and the unhappy youth into an unhappy man. Still he had no meaning of peace.

The unhappy man struggled for years with not knowing peace, but found no resolution. Even when he lived alone, isolated from his family and other human beings, he could find no peace. So he gave up his quest, passing it off as something people said existed but were wrong about, like so much else in the world.

He landed a stable, high-paying job in a respectable company. He married a beautiful woman, intelligent, strong-willed, and passionate about everything she did. And everyone told him she would make him so happy.

Everyone was wrong.

In time his beautiful, intelligent, strong-willed, passionate wife gave birth to their two beautiful, gentle, perfect children. And everyone told him they would make him so happy.

Everyone was wrong.

And because in his eyes everyone could not be wrong, he felt that he had to be wrong. There had to be something wrong with him, for him not to appreciate everything the universe had given him. He had given up his mad, wild goose chase for peace and given into the universe's expectations for him, hadn't he? Hadn't he done exactly what he was supposed to do? All he asked for in return was happiness and a little peace of mind.

But the universe isn't in the habit of giving people what they want, is it?

So the man lived out the rest of his life, slowly turning from an unhappy man into an even unhappier old man. An old man surrounded by people, at all times of the day. An old man who wished he could have known what it meant to be a lonely little boy, who sat in a lonely little house, on a lonely little hill, in his own lonely little world.

Eventually, the old man's life drew to a close. And in his final moments in this world, he was surrounded by a seemingly never-ending sea of people. People who had known moments of loneliness, and pain, and peace. People the unhappy old man had envied all his life for these moments. People the unhappy old man wished would get the hell out of his room, so he would finally know and feel what he had always longed to know and feel.

Finally it came. The end. The blissful end to a long and meaningless existence full of yearning for peace.

It was his Time.

And at long last, the universe gave the old man what he had always wanted. The old man was a little boy who knew loneliness.

There once lived a lonely little boy, who sat in a lonely little house, on a lonely little hill, in his own lonely little world.

And the lonely little boy in the lonely little house was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Isolated from everyone and everything he had once held dear.

The lonely little boy wished for nothing more than to be surrounded by never-ending seas of people.

But since when is the universe in the habit of giving people what they want?