Memories shaped a person. Without them, Elijah had been nothing more than living flesh with a gaping hole in his chest.
More than once, he had thought it would be better to know everything. At least then he might understand the misery gnawing at him.
When others recalled their little adventures from when they were four, he had nothing. As the years went on, it remained the same.
Aside from fleeting glimpses and fractured flashes, all he had was the aching need for control. To remain steady. Calm.
Even when they pointed at him and called him a freak. Even when they shoved him into some forgotten corner. He stayed calm.
But why? Why cling to stillness so desperately?
Amidst the blur of confusion and the cramming of spells, he wished he had at least retained a little naivety from his childhood.
But someone disagreed. God Himself had shoved the pain down his throat until he choked on it.
It had been a perpetual pain—slow, suffocating, endless—until now.
