Reincarnation

My twin just died right in front of me. 
I am not in a position to tell you if they were male or female because I cannot move. My body, small as it is, remains completely untrained and exhaled. I was just born a few hours ago. The smell of a newborn covered in tears and shit being my first memory gives me high hopes for this new life. I even know why they died: food poisoning. My stomach is rolling with it. I am burning and bubbling in pain, but after hours of my brother or sister crying, I know there is no point in asking for help. 
But I cannot understand. 
Why feed us? 
Don’t they care that we are in pain? 
Why even bother to feed us? 
What did they feed us? 
Why was it spoiled? 
Why the meaningless food? 
Are they poor? 
Are they dead? 
Are they gone? 
Are we unwanted? 
Am I going to die? 
What is my fate? 
Alone? 
Not alone, just after my twin. Unable to get up and find out, I am wholly at the mercy of fate. How many children have met this fate when our ancestors played with fire? I remember that for most of history, children received names after one year of life. 
Reincarnation is fear, coldness, and pain. It is a cute idea, but in reality, the odds of you becoming a king or queen of anything are so small that the possibility may as well not exist. What is the most common fate in the history of the one hundred and nine billion people who have ever lived? Is it better to die as a child with a full stomach covered in shit? If that is the case, then what does that mean for humanity? 
Are we young? 
That there were people before us? 
That they were concerned enough to feed us? 
That they are gone now? 
That we should be curious about them? 
That left us poison? 
That I need to learn to process poison. 
That I am going to make a mess of myself? 
That crying kills you faster? 
That we need to save each other? 
That every day is a miracle.