May you rot in hell

His whole would would twist and convulse, heaving and pulling and the he would try and breath but there was nothing, just liquid to fill his tiny lungs. Time. It would take time for his birth, precious time he didn't have. More and more time would pass lungs burning as he tried to draw in air but could find none. It would take time, but eventually another convulsion and he would slip into a world of cold and hot. Blood would follow him and for a short time he would lay motionless, lungs filled with liquid. But then air. Just a tiny bit of air would touch his lunch and he would begin coughing, trying to dispel the liquid. But once done he would cease, cease movement and cease all sounds. He would wait to be directed, placed and shown what to do before he would join his sister in her suckling, oblivious to the fact he had been born into a world of blood.