(Sometime I wonder if writers of the famous books wrote their books in a smooth flow, I seem to be coming with random thoughts that I wish to fit into the book and without losing a moment I want to put them on a roll.)
Lives are born way before, the people to fill in them arrive. Forefathers trekking the globe, falling in love, allergic to things or emotions, living long slow lives or dying famous deaths, decide the shell of life for next many generations to come. Most of us are born, happy to fill in the structure created before them adopting the thoughts and believes, a few restless though, are born crying wanting to create their own things, make a name and worst of all defying all the rules. Stakes, cross and ghettos were invented thanks to them. Like if living on the edge is not good enough, they dream of dying off the cliff. As for this story, for better or for worst I am in love with one of these freaks.