In a small town, a boy was born.

This boy’s name and the name of his town of origin are of little consequence, for his name and the name of his town were based on the past, giving their titles little significance.

This town was arranged under the same formula that most towns of the last few hundred years had been founded and grown, a church, farms, schools, hospital, houses, stores and all of the other usual needs and conventional institutions of modern life.

This boy grew up on a small cattle farm near the outskirts of the town. He liked to play in the fields and around the small forest that had mercifully been left standing when the farm had been built and the land scraped and cleared.

The boy spent much time in the small wood, running through the leaves, snapping twigs and smashing sticks against trunks. Most young boys are like that though; rage and violence walk hand in hand during their development, flowing through their veins at a time when, if they aren’t strictly disciplined, their consciences are still free of virtue or fairness.

With a mind weak in conscience, the boy was out playing one day as usual, thundering through the woods, crunching and crushing and crashing. He stopped as he crossed the path of a squirrel, one that seemed slightly stunned by his sudden approach and the ceasing of all his noise. The squirrel was up on its hind legs, ears perked, listening intently, eyes watching.

The boy held a fresh, solid, thick branch firmly in his hands. His grip tightened as his curious and ruthless mind decided his will and the squirrel’s fate. The squirrel sensed this lustful madness and tried to run, but it was too late.

Without giving the squirrel a chance, and without giving his actions a single thought, he had thrown the branch as hard as he could, it quickly overcoming the panicked, fleeing creature, smashing hard across its spine.

The squirrel was limp yet still alive. The boy smiled, proud of his self, but the curiousity inside hadn’t faded.

He approached the small, injured creature, watching it struggle to breath, imagining what he could do to it. He bent down and slapped it hard with his childish hands. He stepped on its feet and legs, poked out the eyes with a sharp stick, then bashed it hard into the leaves and dirt. He thought nothing of his work and ran off again, playing and enjoying his childhood.

Moments like this happen often in the childhoods of many people, though most are forgotten or given little recognition in later life.

The boy grew up in the typical way, being molded by his parents, his friends, church, school, media and his dreams. His life was soon driven by fear and greed. He moved away after school to pursue his goals. He learned in college about mechanics and started working in the auto shop of another common town, his earnings going towards his house, his vehicle, food, possessions and his addictions. His life was long, repetitive and boring, and depression followed his every action.

His job and his addictions, after many years, gave him cancer and after retiring, he soon found his final resting place in a hospital bed. He looked back on his life during those last months, where machines functioned for him and he lay completely helpless. His life had been lived to maintain all that he was taught was significant and he died there after long periods of helpless, fearful, drugged-up agony.

His spirit left him, to find a newborn host, and his memories disappeared.

Spirits transcend time, like webs that latch past and future together.

In a warm nest of leaves, in a tree in a forest, a mother squirrel cared for her newborn young, cleaning and nursing them. As they grew and matured, she taught them the ways of their lives, what was needed and what to be weary of. They played together, chasing one another, foraging for food and sleeping where they pleased.

As they grew older, some went off on their own, having mastered the lessons of survival given to them by their mother and wishing to pursue their own adventures and have offspring of their own.

The young male had lived for one and a half seasons. He loved his life, he loved the air, he loved to play and run and climb and jump. He loved to eat and forage. He was careful of predators, for there were many who wished to make food of him, but he did not live his life in fear.

He had built a nest and was searching for a mate one day when the wonder of his life was frozen. He stopped in mid-stride and rose to listen with sharp ears to the change in the pattern of the forest. He had done this many times when met with a feeling of danger. His bright eyes tried to interpret the situation. He sensed a fearful presence, and tried to run.

Suddenly there was a searing pain and he could not move. Agony and feelings that he had never felt before pulsed through him, and he was afraid. It hurt to breath, his lungs were crushed and his bones were broken. The pain grew as a sudden blow ignited the pain anew. He felt his legs popping and knew life would never be beautiful again. His vision exploded and was gone, leaving only agony.

In the final moment, he felt his happiness fade and then his body was beaten into mud.

His spirit left him, to find a newborn host, and his memories disappeared.

Spirits transcend time, like webs that latch past and future together.

In a small town, a boy was born.

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