He was birthed into a dream.
His all black, hi top converse had no laces and he wore no shirt.
Wearing none but camouflage cargo shorts.
A mist fell from the black void he stood in.
Tickling the skin.
Small droplets converged to larger ones on the balcony of his chest, giving a sparkling dance to his tattoos in the white light.
A spotlight that seemed to have no source shewn upon him and centered him under it with each movement.
Beautiful gypsy moths slowly came from the blackness and hovered in a perfect circle around him.
One moth was considerably bigger than the rest.
It fluttered closer to him and landed on his outstretched finger that he held in front of his bare chest as a perch.
It spoke and said, 'mastery is not a burden young one, they will push you to an isle and pull you to the flame as you share your gifts, this cannot be avoided.'
He stood silently as a bushy tailed fox approached at his feet and put it's paws on his stomach as it looked up at him, moth still in hand.
The fox spoke and he saw the foxes tongue forming...