4. Rebirth

Its—my—nose broke; as surely as I could feel the pain invading my temples. Without further ado, my waist turned, my left arm went up to the reaching hand and my flailing arm continued its arc down to break or dislocate its—my—arm at the elbow; it was dislocated. The thing—I—fell down to the ground with a crack that brought a wave of pain to its—my—torax. I brought my feet onto its—my—nape and slowly pushed until I could felt the hard leather of my soles on my own scalp and smell the oily scent of my boots with my own nose.

Will I die? "Sooner or later we all will die, son" answered the voice of my long gone father. Then, I stomped on the thing—myself—. It died with the whisper of a pop—and I was born.