And thus, he was born. Out of the shadows that were his mother's thighs, slipping through with a stream of scarlet, crimson, ruby. Thick, red, blood. As life was given, one was taken. Hollowed breaths followed aching screams. What a way to come to being. Though he was not cold, this new stuffs was not the comfort of his womb. His encasement of pulsing warmth, food and nothingness. He cried to his mothers cries. The music of sobbing that would arouse a lurch in him every time after now. An uncontrollable spasm gagging in his throat. The automatic drop of his stomach, his heart, innards. His being an orphan was his undoing. It would have been any ones undoing. The shoe that would have remained tightly laced, now loosened. Retching open the aglets snapped at the air, weaving backwards through each hole, the tongue drooping forwards and eventually leading the heel and toes to slip out. The child was to remain barefooted, the sole, soul, blackening. He began his life with dirty feet and nails unclipped continue to grow.
Not that he was a bad child, just inward, everything about him seeped inside his chest pulled further back by a hook, on a string. It was tied taut to his spine and sucked like a magnet all speech, thought, action. Sucked them and held them firmly close to his heart and not to be parted with. Because nothing was escaping more time was left by him to seep in all that encircled him. And so, he watched