His face hung so low his neck dissapeared behind his jaw and cheeks. His stares were lost on the ground, his gait was so heavy and his steps were so soft he barely walked, as all he saw with those eyes on the cold, concrete floor, and all that were seen on that face which lost its neck to its jaw and cheeks, were worries and more worries. He lost himself in his misery and his misery was always 'too much', as all work and no play had made Rons a very sad boy.He had taken a peek at his schedule and what he saw made him bluer than blue. He had 5 days left, 5 days of play left, but here he was, rigid as a stone, while his friends were running about in the courtyard, their skin glowed under the afternoon sun,chasing and kicking a ball around. They shouted at each other and howled at the sun like it was the moon. Yes,they were crazy, he thought, but they were having fun, he moaned. He was as cold as steel while they were as hot as coal, and while they were sprinting from one end to the other, here he was, erect as the pillar next to him, under the shade, taking in the soft breeze to calm his bludgeoned mind.What was everything was those five days. What will be nothing was those five days as he knew they would pass by while he agonized at each second ruined. His friends just ran and ran after a ball till a stray stab punctures it.He wanted to get in it with them, butAll he could do was look, as he was too afraid to move his legs, fearing they might crack and thus forcing him to spend the rest of those days with a cast as hard and strict as his spine now was.There they were, zipping around, shoving each other and not giving a care in the world; to them, they owned the world even though it was really the other way around. He wanted such freedom, he wanted to taste it and he wanted to break these chains that were attached in his head. He wanted to be them, even though he may split a couple of bones or spill a pool of blood. He wanted to live. All for a ball and a ball for all. That was how they think, that was all they think, he thought. That was how it should be, and all those burdens, every single one of them, would flutter away with the wind that was against his face as he chased and chased after the only two things that mattered, the ball and the goal of scoring a goal.He wanted to be but he couldnt. He had shoulders and shoulders were made to carry, backs were made to bend and brains were made to think and worry and worry about things more important than a ball and the goal of scoring a goal. He has a name and it is Rons, and Rons means responsibility in his and his friends' and the worlds' language, it means taking your load till you loose yourself in your misery. You care so much, it was 'too much'. It means all work and no play for a very sad boy longing for joy as his holiday was up in 5 days