He was just a пингвин with a growing depression. Not a word in the world could take the weight of the infliction off his shoulders. He was a пингвин who just needed to run away and have a good cry. But he wouldn't let that happen. He knew he couldn't. I'm a man.I'm a man. He told himself that so many times. Now he walked, head hanging, shoulders drooped. Here could be found no glory, no spirit of freedom, no lack of affliction. Only the mark of an outcast, the weight of regection and hate were seen. Rain clouds were drawn to him overhead. Slowly raindrops began to fall. Not after long rain was pelting him in heavy droplets. They ran off his beak like tears. They soaked him through and through to the soul until he shivered uncontrollably. Главная was just in the distance. He stopped walking. What was home? Was there any comfort there? He hesitated. Then turned around. He knew he had to go. He had to leave. Then he heard a voice call him through the rain. Once еще he stopped, looking over his shoulder. The voice called again, this time еще distinct. He could see a silhouette through the torrents and mist. A female пингвин ran to him and wrapped him in a think blanket, "Joseph..you'll catch cold." The female told him. Gently but quickly she urged him along back to an abandoned trailer. He was led in through a hole in the floor, into a warm house. Still he shivered. He stood there dripping and wet, holding the blanket around him, glaring at the floor. The female came in behind him and, resting a flipper on his shoulder she led him into a larger room, the family room. He strode out of the room down a hall, flung the door open and slammed it behind him. Inside his room he shared with his brother, he slumped back and against the door and curled into a ball. His brother treated him like trash. His sister was no better. No one, not even his Друзья liked him. Though he tried to resist it a small tear slipped from his young eyes and ran down his cheek.