But I didn't choose this! I don't want this! He ached with the need to cry; to release the emotion that had found home in him and left him overfull— with not place to grieve. And still the tears would not flow. His skin itched and he wanted to claw it bloody. The wind brushed against him and he broke into gooseflesh, but his hairs did not raise. Like he was not real. Like he was some sort of doll to be used. 