I scoff at their efforts!
Within seconds, I was, and have remained, darker than they would ever be.
But wait! I’m jumping the gun here. Let me rewind and unfold this vignette from its beginning:
My master went out as far as he could. Wave after wave brought him to a point of sheer elation of which nature was the creator, the catalyst, and the culprit. From beyond the shoreline, my master’s mother called him in.
Imagine your father looking at you and wishing you had never been born! Not only was I the sum of chaos, but I was the product of a kind of death -- the death of my master's fearlessness.
I wish I knew mine!
I am an imperfection of shame in a sea of orderly cell production. The worst part is, however, that I am to remain just a blemish. My master has no love -- no outward nor inward appreciation -- of my potential. I have forever earned the shame of my father, my bearer, my creator.