The slime child sits in bizarre shapes. Unconstrained by human anatomy. Vaguely shaped like a person. Ive been raising them eleven years now, beholding their oddities and strangeness. Their mind, which i assume lies in their facsimile of a skull, absorbs information its own way. The real world scares it, so they have retreated. They create little wonders with ink and paper and canvas. They even create with electric signals imitating the previous methods. Everything they touch gets a part of them, a trail they leave behind. They are a wonder to behold and love. They grow so fast.
The second, the youngest. I have been there since her beginning. She too seems to refuse to be human, only looking the part. Her heart is made of wire and circuitry. Her mind, flesh. She takes in the world through innocent eyes and loves all she sees. Her programing looks on the bright side of everything, so much joy. Her atomic heart beats with ferocity and outputs the energy of a fleet of locomotives. She loves fully, she mourns completely. There is no room in her for half measures. Everything is at maximum level. She is competitive, and easy to anger. Near impossible to soothe. I too love this robot that was made amd assembled just in time for me to meet her off the factory line.
Their mother is a storm. Rage and lightning. She seethes, she swells, she retreats. She devours countless worlds with ease and aplumb. She passes over them in an evening leaving nought but rubble and memories. But she remembers. Every face, every life. She remembers all she has consumed. Each papyrus world in the stack by the couch. She loves too like a tsunami. Calm and still, then crashing upon you like a great wave. Overtaking your senses and drowning you in her emotion. She is the scent of rain in the distance, and a cool evening thunderstorm with a cup of coffee. I've spent 11 years in the eye of the hurricane. I would long for no other place.
I do not know what life would look like without these three. They are apart of this broken tattered man. They have all crawled in my chest and pump my still cold heart. I have long been a zombie, made up of stitched and shattered pieces. Cobbled together with no purpose or foresight. I have drifted like a log in a lake. Back and forth with the wind. I had no name and no goals till their happiness became mine.
