I am the one who should not exist. People like me are born dead, or, at best, die in infancy. It’s simple: the one who cannot develop must die. None of the children of the void have ever made it to a year.
I made it to thirteen. Long thirteen years of miserable existence, in which all I could — with difficulty move. And even then not all the time. For every minute of my life, the clan had to pay a lot of money. And they are here, on the edge of civilized lands, oh, how difficult it is to earn.
Perhaps I could continue to live like this. Crippled, strong in thought, but not in body. But one night, uninvited guests came to the estate, and everything changed.
That’s when I had to learn how to survive for real.
© Stony Artyom