Crying isn't normal.

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The baby was born in perfect health.

Not a scratch nor scar settled on the petite body of the boy.

He shouldn't have been crying.

His screams echoed off the blank walls of the hospital. The only way to stop the cries was putting the child to sleep.

He would learn soon enough that crying isn't normal.

The boy had been named because of that moment, so he sat in the first grade class room writing the word over and over, practicing so he could show his mother and father his accomplishment.

Echo.

It was a peculiar name for a peculiar child.
A child who smiled when joy was brought into his life or pouted when he was told it was bed time.

I would say he was loved by some and hated by others, but those words aren't really in my vocabulary.

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