Realistic+Fiction+Max+M.

Suddenly, the crying began. It wasn't the crying of some child who didn't get what he wanted, it was of The First

Breath of Life. I never really remembered my toddler hood but ironically, I can distinctly recall my Birth, like it

happened yesterday. After bitting my tongue for what seemed an eternity, a head came, then the arms, then, finally,

the feet. I over looked my creation of life with great care, as if he were a fragile piece of art. I wrapped my son

in a soft, warm blanket. Then the doctors sent him to the infirmary with all the new borns. all that time, I had

been giving my full attention to my new son and forgotten about my wife. She was moaning and mumbling to herself all

the while the child was escaping from her. She was in pain and did not act like see would make it. My hunch was

correct. She died two minutes after giving birth. It was then and there that I would make sure my son was in good

hands, in my hands. I would never let him go. Never.

It all started on a brisk Tuesday morning when the sun broke on my house, the kind of morning you don't want to get

up and face the day ahead, to

DOG