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Summary
The images finally end with a single memory: his mother cupping his cheeks with a manic but cold glint in her eyes saying: “You’re Complete.”
It never made sense to him at the time. Nothing ever makes sense if he were being completely honest. He was Complete, and yet, he felt broken. He was Complete and yet, he could never leave the prison that was called his room. No one could see him, no one could hear him. He was Complete and yet, without fail, someone, if it wasn't his ‘dear mother’ would inspect him. Someone would grip his chin, almost bruisingly and observe his face for a moment — searching. For what? He didn’t know; there wasn’t a mirror in this prison.
He never saw how hauntingly blood-red his eyes were. Or the twin pupils that seemed to glow against the harsh color.