Peter lifted his head from off the pasty white table; the sleeves of his shirt were soaked with tears. Sniffling, he lowered the box back over the two buttons; the agony of his failure was too much for his little heart to bear. His legs shook as he stood; looking, trying to find the camouflaged door among the colorless walls.

“Peter,” the voice said, “the sky is melting.” He looked up to where a sky might be, he had heard it was up high, but never had he seen one. “Every time you fail, it melts a little more.”

His mother told him the sky was blue – before they took him away, she told him he was different – they would hate him for it. Like his father before him, Peter could see the sky, he could see the color blue.

They envy you and that’s why they’re taking you from me, his mother said. Don’t let them take the sky from you.

“I can see the sky!” Peter screamed, his head held high. “A beautiful deep color blue! Not a cloud to be seen,” he shouted doggedly, “my sky is clear, it’s only melting for you!”