Prolific

Born with a crown carved into his chest, Thaddaeus Adonai Voltz had been egregiously born with the talent of perfection.

How arduous.

He forget the curse of his mother's Christian name by the time he had revolved eighteen thousand and twenty five times around a hysterical moon. She had perished by the blame of the Earth; had fallen victim to dirt and poison - and in all honesty, Daeus had never been quite sure how she had withered in her coffin. He'd always thought death was rather romantic until it singed his nostrils and burned his brain.

He had been genderless until he had graced air; but his birth had been nothing less of a miracle for two desperate adults.

( thaddaeus (aramaic) - matt. 10:3 - that praises or confesses. )

His knees were raw from wood: from spending hours upon hours bent on his bones with his fingers folded together, professing confessions to an ill-forgotten man who he'd pictured to sit on a throne of clouds. Daeus would never profess to his mother or father that he did not believe in such an entity: would mumble poems and prose under his breath and cross his lapel in the hope that he was convincing enough to be a blessed Christian.

It was when he was the tender age of seven that he peered between the crack of the library door. What he noticed was two bodies melded together - one that resembled his father and one of a woman. Daeus had been intrigued and confused; a pathway of veins as they protruded from flushed skin. He had been discovered, only moments later, when shoes clicked against the bitten wood: and he had been scolded with the cruelty of a belt and frostbitten words, confined to the promises of his room. It was then that he forgot God existed.

He becomes the example of his father: cruelty an addition to necessity as a fraudulent way to exponentially grow within yourself like a flower in the spring.

Born a incapable genius.