I tried to focus on something else; anything else. But I couldn’t overlook the sickly, troubled, broken child who was suffering. He was one of the most pitiful sights I’d ever seen in my life. As I dared myself to step closer, and to acknowelege the gruesomness before me, I felt my face sting. Tears trickled down my cheeks, just as they had on the night my father and I fought. On the morning I left for London. The afternoon those girls at camp were picking on me. But this seemed so much worse than all of those events. In all of those memories, no one was so critically and visibly ill. No one was so close to walking the path of death. Now, things were different. I knelt down next to Casimir, looking into his large, deep eyes as if they held the secrets to the universe. I was looking right at him, but at the same time trying not to truly see him. However, that was what people had done Casimir’s whole life, save for for his mother. Look at what that had resulted in!