I watched them run from my small pitiful excuse of a house. There were girls and boys; teens and adults. Theyre called the "Wild Ones". Everyday at the same very spot theyd come running through our village. To some they bring joy,others nuisance. Youd see little ones whos mimic them from time to time. Apparently theyre our hero. But as I stare at them from my small window Ive grown to notice something eerie about them. Watching something everyday youd think youd notice every possible detail that the naked eye could capture but I couldnt. Thats what off. You know the feeling when someone is too perfect. My mother would tell me "Even a white rose has a shadow". A dark secret that no one is suppose to know. The same questions repeat in my mind. "Why isnt everyone a wild one?", "How can you even be a wild one?". Ive tried to tell other people about my theories but theyd blow me off as a lunatic. My mother has warned me that I shouldnt think such things. That I shouldnt step out of boundaries as a child. But I believe I know what im talking about. The smartest people can seem like idiots to other idiots.