My birth name was passed down through ten generations of midnight. Wolf howl, my father. The witching hour, my mother. The doctor that delivered me was a bullet dressed in unanswered prayers. When morning arrived, the sun showed a certain sense of mercy. It branded me with a nickname more akin to light. The land gave me colors: topsoil chocolate; lush forest green; red, gold and pale blue, like the collision of blood, joy and tears.
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