
It would be easy, infintely easy, to act as though youth is
unable to be anything but honeysuckle-sweet. Sticky hands, grass stains, hand-me-downs;
these are all well and good. These are all icons of childhood.
However, just as mothers may bear good sons, they may bear ones with
fire-tongues and knife-hands. Perhaps the world is in
need of more bad than good. Whatever the case, in the
rural town of Buck-Knife, there is a boy named Owen Sebastian Liebermann,
who is talking through his teeth and spitting blood.
He is not a good person. He is an even worse son.
✹✹✹
Make him cry, and watch as he floods cities with it.