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The boy put down the pencil and strayed from the table covered in words and carvings, of elegant designs that that poured from the boys thoughts in streams of webs of spontaneous creativity. It's reflective surface chipping in it's dark chestnut gleam, the wood finely hazed, flowing like a sunburst like that of a hollow body of a violin. Candles spread upon the table leaving time in heaps of wax upon the old thing... The boy pulled out some old instruction manuals from some miscellaneous odds and ends and began folding them intently, rythmically, progressively. The candles swayed to his every sudden movement, determination his drive. He just folded and folded... That was it... The boy slammed his hand upon the table and rested the weight of his head upon his other hand. He swiftly stood, chair flying back from momentum. He moved to the bathroom and looked deeply into the mirror as if he could see something others could not-reading between the lines of his own image... He saw a stranger and a monster... The paper cranes lay idle upon the table...