They did not name us, my thousand thousand brothers and sisters and I, and so we went out unknown to each other in the most fundamental of ways. We could not name ourselves, being but newly born, and empty of knowledge upon which to base our names. We are all twins, as near as my unblinking eyes can tell, alike in furry brownness, alike in affability. On our chests was stitched the word ‘Boston’, curved in red thread upon our bellies.
It is from this word that I take my name. Of my myriad kin I know nothing: where they went, how they have fared, if they dream as I do.
He who named me took me everywhere. I was slammed into doors, dragged upon the ground, twisted and bent and drooled over, confided in and sworn at and cried upon. The pain from these injuries remains fresh upon my skin, for I do not heal. But what is pain? I bear it stoically, but I do not forget. Each injury that tears at me I brand upon my mind, indelibly, in thread of gold. It may be that in time I will be revenged. In time I may forgive.