Birthed storie

They looked like a split dead end, little uncared hairs. Broken toothpicks unclean. Correctingly "They look like little ants." The children below did not care either way. They were children, and I was so detached from them. The height was a horror and a thrill, I'd tell them here, but we already know. I went to the same places as they all did. We were schoolmates, friends. We are Siblings. A brotherhood. A sisterhood too. Oh, you should have seen us in the locker rooms.