The boy never needed, never wanted anything with his life.

Not that he knew what his life, nor what his world really was.

He couldn't see, he knew not of beauty, nor of atrocities.

He couldn't hear, he knew not of spite, nor words of tongue.

He needn't think much, for he knew no words or images to think with.

The only attachment he may have was the occasional fluffy touch of an animal, calming water, and enjoyable sensations along his tongue.

"What a pitiful creature." Those were the words that changed his life, or maybe it is more accurate to say that they really started it.

Unaware of the words said regarding him, he continued to sit in constant silence, his eyes still closed as usual.

Then, the boy was suddenly startled, he put his hands over his head as he rocked back and forth in a chair.

Something was wrong. Something was different. Something made his skin crawl, as if a million ants were grooming each individual strand of hair on his body.

It made him extremely uncomfortable because it was new, unknown, and potentially dangerous.

Every instinct told him to be worried, to kick out, to fight back.

They boy flailed his body around, as if he was a fish out of water.

He made feral noises, as if he was a mother wolf warning other animals to stay away from her pups.

He spat, growled, kicked, and shed his own blood as he destroyed the room around him.

The skin on his body curled back, as if it was trying to peel itself away from the feral boy.

Then he was gone, leaving a tattered room and another person in his place.