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he stared at his reflection. his collar bones were carved out, like the majestic spread of translucent wings at the base of his throat. his eyes were fluid, like a glass goblet containing the richest red wine. Slowly transitioning from amaranthine to black.
he saw himself through their eyes. he saw the flabby biceps under his long sleeves. he saw the protruding ribs under his black sweater. he saw the pallid dull skin. he saw the bags under his eyes. he winced at his ugliness. he writhed in disgust at himself.
he understood why they hated him now. he was ugly. he deserved to be hated.
he was born prematurely to an old couple. Three months prior to his actual due date. he had seen the man who fathered him, beat up his mother. he had seen that man pick up his bags and escape. his mother cleaned the house but still the dust of the pains left behind by him lingered near.
he watched that man leave from his seat at the dining table. he never rose. he never spoke. he never fought. he never stopped him.
he cursed himself for not being able to accomplish what his mind willed. he was weak.
he was frail.
he was full of regret.
he ran away from his troubles.
he was scared of himself. Of what he was turning into.
