The author lives in Brooklyn. You will see his picture below. He still dresses this way, and smirks. He was little but big for his age. Other children made fun of his clothes. Then he turned into a monster and ate them and killed everyone, and burnt down the houses. And everyone was very sorry for saying that bad thing and scared. He was very sorry too, but too late. He had killed them. Not knowing his own power. He cried. They cried too, but couldn't make tears, because they were dead and ductless.

His tears fell on their graves. But then they came back to life, just good ones. They grew like trees from their graves. The good ones came out. They said you are not a monster after all. They said you killed the bad ones. We will build a castle and live here. They did. It had a room for him at the top where he could see all the way. He lived in the castle in his own room and no one ever made fun of his clothes again. Because he had saved them. He was just a little boy now because they fixed him so he was no longer a monster. Then he became an advertising copywriter.