The box

It was a beautiful, sunny and lovely afternoon when a tall man, dressed in a suit, wearing a suitcase was walking hastily on the sidewalk. He had just finished work and was on his way home. As he was walking, he decided to pass by the city park, since the weather was pleasant and fine for such walk. The place was overflowing with a large variety of flowers, which brought colourful feel, contrasting with the grey asphalt on the roads. The noice from the lively park felt surprisingly relaxing.
On one of the benches there was sitting a lonely child. Isolated from everyone else, his age was about ten years old. His face was scarred with a few ugly wounds, which were dealt by who knows what. His eyes were swelling and reddish and tears were slowly, but surely coming down from them. And nobody seemed to take any notice in him at all.
The man was intrigued by this strange sight and decided to step in.
-- What's the matter, boy? -- asked the man. -- Why are you crying?
After some sobbing, the boy looked the man in the eyes for a moment, then tilted his head down and started rubbing his eyes with his hands.
-- Nobody understands me. -- he spoke. -- Everyone avoids me.
-- Is it because of your face? -- continued the man.
The boy shook his head in a negative response.
-- Then why?
-- Can't you see?
-- See what?
-- The box.
-- What box?
-- The box you all reside in.
-- We?
-- You, humans.
The man got pretty much confused. The boy didn't make sense at all.
-- I'm sorry, little boy, but I cannot understand what you're talking about.
-- You all reside within a box of illusions, which governs your lives and in the same time, you renounce yourself from me. -- replied the boy. -- haven't you ever thought of what it is like beyond the box?
-- I think that those are problems that adults should be taking care of, boy. -- explained the man. -- Why would a little child like you worry about them?
The boy suddenly opened his reddish eyes and looked at the costumed man with the most serious look ever.
-- I am much older than you. -- he said.
-- That's nonsense. I am thirty one years old. You are not more than ten. Where are your parents?
-- I don't have parents.
The man gasped.
-- What is your name, child?
-- Truth. My name is Truth.
As soon as he heard that name, the man stepped back, and just like everyone else, he ignored the boy and continued on his way, while the little child still stood there and continued his lamentation.

Hello there, I am a hobbyist writer/blogger and I've written quite a number of poems, short stories and such (mostly poems), played with rhymes for years and now I'd like to make my first post here, presenting my last short story. I hope it raises some interesting thoughts in the mind of the reader.