Children frightened me, and that's actually a good thing.

The fact of the matter is kids these days no longer are right.

There's something to be said about that sudden rise of specialists in the field of behavioral health and the age range of 5 to 10 year olds.

You may find it odd to discover that my job of choice is that of a guidance counselor, given what I just said.

The reason for this is because I feel that even though a young mind is an enigma, it's pure innocent.

And that's all the more reason to help a young who have been particularly traumatized by the rage and darkness that haunts this world today.

Beyond my general counseling, I also provide a service for the local DHS and child protective services to help foster homes and shelters for wards of the state.

Typically, there's only three reasons why a facility of this kind will call upon my services, and it's always because I'm their last resort.

Number one, a child is going to act out violently and is in need of therapeutic treatment to alter the behavior.

Number two, a child is going to act out in a manner non-typical of their age group or individual education plan.

For example, a ran-bunxist child suddenly becomes silent or a boisterous child choosing to remain calm.

Three, child experiencing psychological problems relating to physical activity such as wetting the bed, sweating profusely without explanation or night terrors.

So last Thursday, I was called in on a case involving Owl Creek RTC, where eight of the children in Ward B exhibited all three of the symptoms.

And apparently, it became so bad they needed outside help.

For all intents and purposes, Owl Creek is a place that really shouldn't have existed.

Before it became a private orphanage, it was a boarding school, and before that it was a hospital for developmentally disabled youths.

In other words, it was a place where society sent children, like it no longer handle themselves.

Long, perfectly trimmed hedges and iron gates barred to the ground from the outside world.

A perfect utopia, these children to experience life unfettered from the abuse that likely shackled them in their whole lives.

Here they could be free, for at least that was what it was meant to do.

I recognized that those same protections could be perceived as a way to keep them unaware of life beyond these walls.

The building itself was made of brick, long wooden trussles, between slanted, long glass windows.

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