The crazed boy looked at the sky and started to wink in a most impish, affable manner. He knew if he befriended the sky, it would be an eternal source of solace for him. He wouldn't ever need to face the anxiety of being friendless.
The blue visage was acting coy. One moment, it would beam down at him in a show of affected conciliation, and the next, it would begin to perspire on him dismissively. The boy, for a long time, was at a loss.
Then he began to speak to it. He tilted his cranium heavenwards, and began to mumble sacred words imbued with attractive power; these words were earnest and woven from his very depths. He took steps, propelling his body wherever the perpetual canopy stretched, and found that his vitality was replenished and augmented with every footfall.
The sky had accepted him, he began to feel; and he began to feel.