The Boy with the Horns

The Boy with the Horns

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, May 31, 2015
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Fiction
Romance
"When did it start?" The man asked, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, searching my mother's face with an expression of utmost superiority. I hated him. My mother's usually storm grey eyes softened. They now looked more like rain opposed to a storm. "When he was born," She took a second to take a breath and grip the edge of the sofa until her knuckles were white. "He didn't cry. He came out silent. They thought he was dead." Maybe I am. Maybe I was never alive.
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Reborn

At birth the little boy opened his dark blue eyes and looked around without opening his mouth. When the -inconsiderate- doctor gave him a slap on his buttocks instead of crying a "tch" escaped his lips while an irritated grin bloomed on his face. He had seen them through the glass, just as he had seen more doctors and nurses, and immediately turned his eyes in the opposite direction, frowning at his brows and lips. That was going to be a big nuisance. He did not use to bet but that was not a bet but an incontestable reality.

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