"I want to show you something."
The sun spreads orange pink plaster across the walls of the sky, brilliance leaking through the blades of the window dressings to paint ours as well. We sit on the couch, talking, as the day closes around us.
We spent the afternoon at the park, playing hide and seek on play ground equipment. Spring breathed a warm gift on us today drawing people from their homes. Dog walkers. Kids giggling with glee, escaped prisoners from winters incarceration. A couple walked hand in hand, oblivious to it all, lost in their own attentions.
Exhausted, we found a seat under the arms of a tree and worked through some exercises to help him manage his frustration level. He doesn't understand why people act a certain way. It frustrates him, he responds the only way he knows, the way he has been taught.
"Ok, I am ready. Watch."
He walks down a dark hall, crouching slightly to avoid being seen. A moustached man in fatigues steps around the corner, raising a machine gun. A heads up display zeroes in on the mans body, offering options. Quickly each are highlighted, then the mans head explodes, a fountain of brain matter and skull fragments erupts in slow motion. The body falls like a marionette whose strings have been cut.
He turns and smiles, pausing the game.
"Head shots are worth more points."
Eight years old. Brown hair. Blue eyes. He gets frustrated when he does not understand why people act the way they do.
He responds the only way he knows, the way he has been taught.