When I was eight years old, a terrible accident claimed my parents and the better half of my right arm. With no other family, I was quickly transferred to a run-down little foster home in the middle of a dusty old town with only a brass locket to my name.
Growing up with only one arm wasn’t easy. Fortunately I was still young enough to train myself to be left-handed without too much difficulty, but there was no end to the insults and pranks coming from the other boys in my class. Alas, it was a time where sticks, stones, and words all hurt equally.