Being born

Warm and wet, floating in time, his heart beat to the rhythm that he'd known forever when a strange turbulence rocked his world. It grew stronger and he was drawn into a convergence that closed in on him, tighter and tighter, no matter how hard he struggled against it.

Faster than it began, it ended and his world got cold, cold, cold. As the warm fluid in his ears drained, the soundtrack of his life turned up to 11,
a shrill cavernous cacophony that made his head throb.

His eyes opened for the first time on a world in conflict with the vertigo at the centre of his universe. Even the dim lights in the operating
room burned into his retinas, so he closed them
again and tried to cry.

It wasn't until a hand in a latex glove slapped his ass that he even knew he had one, and it hurt. Somewhere inside him a sound rose up to his lips and when they parted, he screamed for his life.


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