Adler was different. He was not like his mother. He was not like his father. He was not like his siblings and he was not like the postman who came down the street every morning. He had known this from a very young age. Some differences are chosen but Adler’s wasn’t. He was born with it and he bore with it.

 

It all started when he was a little three year old boy. He could still remember the scene of the incident. He was in a large dimly lit room with a group of other three year olds. In restless quiet, they sat and fidgeted in one side of the room. On the opposite side of the room, there were rows and rows of birds, not two alike. Like the children, they were very quiet.

​