I called him "budgie"

I had always known him being there, opposite my bedroom window. Now I was thirty and he was probably forty. Always behind his balcony bars. His parents had never taken him to the street. Having a mentally handicapped child had been a curse for them for who knows which sin.

Happiness behind the bars

He was running hectically to and fro. Suddenly he would stop, look down at the passers-by and sing loudly small fragments. Behind the four year old boy, a greenish neglected open door. He smiled at people as they noticed him and grabbed the rusty balcony bars with his tiny hands.