In My Beginning Is My End

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There is no beginning. Just finishing, ending, completing, concluding. My story does not involve childhood, for my life commenced with twenty twelve month periods behind me. Twenty to begin. No photos of me in cute child form. No torrid struggle of puberty. My mother is still sure birth occured; when, memory does not tell her. She recounts the births of every sibling whenever she is presented with the opportunity; mine is the mystery. She thinks possibly the clinic of Dr Dominic, but when, she does not know. I do not know myself.

My beginning: one crisp, finely-seen morning in university.