Being Little

The little boy lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. His mother has just exited the room after settling him down for the night. But he wasn't tired. Why did he have to go to bed so early and his siblings got to stay up and have fun while head to sleep. It wasn't fair. He was the smallest one. Didn't that mean that he was special? That he could do whatever he wanted?

Tristan pouted up at the picture of the moon that smiled down at him before turning in the bed, hugging the blanket closer. Things were just not so fun when you were that little