A.G.E's Joint

“Truth is lived, not taught.”   This was written on the piece of paper with a sketch of fuzzy penguin slippers next to some trees.   To Billy’s ten year old mind, it had to be a treasure map.   How to crack the code ?   Trees.   That probably meant the woods at the end of the lane.   Slippers?   There was only one way to find out. Down to the where the sidewalk ends he went.   He hopped the fence and there were the slippers.   And next to them was an owl with a tootsie roll pop .    It was a treasure map, after all.  

Rain dripped into the bucket next to the door.   Carefully, he slipped the fuse through the hole. Capped pipes, fuses and wiring were stacked haphazardly on the table next to him.      It won’t be long now.   The memory of the house flashed in front of his eyes, which followed by the image of it burned down.      He was just fighting the monster under the bed.   Sandra, he called her, after his piano teacher.     She used beat his hands when he missed a note.   He could remember swinging the bat and hitting her and she was gone.   Then the muffled voices of the police.   Why they came with SWAT squad, he had no idea.   Everything else was a blur.   The leather restraints and drugs to calm him.   The electrodes as they hooked them on his head and the pain of the shock.     They would never give him anything for the pain.    They eventually let him loose.   But there...