Near's Thought Process
My very first memory was that of the rain. I do not particularly remember where I was or how I got there, but I looked up towards the sky and saw drops of a cold, crystal liquid, falling spherically downwards onto the barren earth. To me, it looked as though the sky was weeping, for some unforeseen reason.
The clouds were dark that day; they were a colour that I had always associated with misery. Thunder clapped, which gave a foreboding effect to the despondent clouds. As this went on, the rain fell harder in an unseemly rhythm that held no meaning. To me, this whole ordeal symbolized that something had shifted in the world, something that was never there before. I was perplexed with this event, and did not comprehend what change would cause the heavens to become so disturbed. For some reason, it bothered me. Probably more than it should have.
I never had very much in common with people, which was why I did not choose to speak very much. I found that I was easier to just listen and observe, rather than to take part in a pointless discussion. Maybe that is the reason that humans always found me a bit odd. I was the quiet one, the one who was always withdrawn and preferred to be alone than to be surrounded by people. Too many people around me made me feel that I could not breathe, that I was being strangled. I hated it.
I felt that it was better for me to be left to my thoughts, away from the prying eyes of society.
Now as I have told you of my first memory, I realized that I was wrong. The rain was not my first memory of my childhood; rather it was my only memory. I spent my life as a child in solitude. I never knew my parents, or what had become of them, which is probably why some people would say is the reason why I grew up in such a particular fashion. Some people, I believe were afraid of me; frightened at what I had the potential of becoming. They knew that I was different; anyone could tell you that, but the reason that people knew I was different was because of my thought process.
I thought ideas through more logically than others might, and I did so unwavering to any fragment of human emotion. In my opinion, accomplishing a result was more important than giving useless thought to how a person may feel. My way of thinking may very well have grown from my desolation to the world.