As eight brothers run and play in a house, living their young lives as toddlers and children, one brother sits by himself, isolating himself.
He did not enjoy playing with the other siblings, yet alone talking to them. He usually walks on his own outside, far away from the laughter and warmth of the large house. He would always find himself walking to the same tree, not too far away from the place where he came from. Sitting by the tree, he watched as leaves blow in the distance. He watched as snow fell and melted from that spot, all in silence.
Whenever he was forced to sit by his family, which isn't a word he took too kindly, it was either for dinner or when his father returns. Their father.
All of his brothers had the same father, but each had their own mother to take care of them at the house, to clean them and to teach them. He hated his father for this.
His hate grew deep in his heart, soon he began to hate his own brothers for the sin of father. His hate was rooted by envy and anger, "Why?", he asked himself.
Why do all of his brothers get their own mother to watch over them but him? He had no mother to run when he would be scared or hurt. He had no mother to teach him how to count or how to write. In truth, all of the mothers seemed quite afraid of him.
When he was young, he walked up to some of the mothers and asked if they could be his. They would all turn their backs to him, leaving him by himself to walk away, seeking the refuge of his tree.
He was alone, confused and scared. None of his brothers seemed too interested in him and whenever one or two might come up to him he would run away, hiding his tears of jealousy.
He scowled at himself, thinking there's something wrong with him. To him, everyone thought he was a freak, a motherless rot who does nothing but leech off of anyone around him for food and shelter. He hated himself...
... but not as much as his father.
