His Name is Stag.

There once was a boy named Stag. Let’s say he’s dead. When he was living, he actually didn’t know the intellectual capacity of his siblings. Not because he felt that they didn’t exist. More so because they did not actually had healthy or serious conversations at home that exercise their brains. They just cracked jokes and or teased each other.

Then, he was allergic to anything that has feelings. He’d rather have distance. He had lots of friends, though. As in met a lot of people who thought of him as a friend. But he really didn’t know what that word meant. When ‘friends’ ask him for help, he’d give out a hand alright. He would listen, give advise or anything he could offer. But when they start to become clingy, he’d move back to his own dungeon.

Sometimes, he wondered why his parents named him Stag. Is it from the word, stagnant? But then, he’d rationalize that being totally consumed with one’s own mind is not really stagnant. His mind was working, he just prefer not caring. Maybe his parent’s thought that his heart was stagnant. They even thought it’s what killed him.