Vash Stampede


His Prewritten History

Here lies an unborn baby
Wrapped in cold, dark chains and confined in ropes
He is a lump of clay ready to be shaped and molded
Fresh from the mother’s womb brimming with high hopes
Possibilities infinite as long as there are dreams
His being is whatever he chooses no limits should hold him
The beauty of the human species.

But he cannot take his true form

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