[Content that he's safe for the time being, the boy crosses his arms in rest against the windowsill, cheek resting against his arm with a longsuffering breath. Eyes more wide, as though greedily taking in the sights while he can. It is more important, to gulp down that sliver of the outside world, than to wait in the dark or beg and cry for help.]
Regardless of the reasoning they give, to raise a child like they are something other, something less than a person... it makes me wonder where the love of a parent even matters. Should we feel grateful, that they did not kill us?
When does a person stop being a person, in the eyes of other humans?
no subject
[Content that he's safe for the time being, the boy crosses his arms in rest against the windowsill, cheek resting against his arm with a longsuffering breath. Eyes more wide, as though greedily taking in the sights while he can. It is more important, to gulp down that sliver of the outside world, than to wait in the dark or beg and cry for help.]
Regardless of the reasoning they give, to raise a child like they are something other, something less than a person... it makes me wonder where the love of a parent even matters. Should we feel grateful, that they did not kill us?
When does a person stop being a person, in the eyes of other humans?