The third one.

Once upon a time 

There were three kids. 

None of them really wished for being someone amazingly wealthy.

Almost as if they were enlightened. 

Almost as if they hadn't come down to your level to be risen.

The way they were and they way they had been was so comfortable. 

They experienced their mother's womb in their living state. 

What job do you have in your mother's womb? 

What debts? 

What relationships are you thinking of? 

What comfort do you wish for? 

Which drink would like in there? 

What gravity could pull you down? 

What guilt could you feel for being who you are? 

Which friends did you wish to meet in there? 

What expectations did you have in there? 

What dreams did you manifest? 

Were you even happy? 

Or sad? 

Or reluctant? 

What abuses did you learn? 

What languages did you have to communicate in? 

What was death to you in there? 

What was life instead but being? 

What questions did you look for? 

They just didn't know what to do. 

There was nothing to do except... accept. 

'Kill everything' one said.

'Cowards' said the other.

The third one kept quiet.