The bright morning sunlight is streaming through the classroom windows. It's beaming on the front blackboard, creating a spotlight on a boy who's writing on the board. He filled the board with graffiti of symbols, numbers, and letters, written in whatever direction. The boy, with unkempt hair, is solving a problem in advanced calculus. The board is screeched invariably as he waved his chalk like a music conductor. Specks of chalk dust are floating and dancing around him, glistening in the focused sunlight. The boy leaped on a stool and continued writing his exhaustive solution on the upper part of the board. He wrote in a slapdash manner; not pausing to think, and writing and erasing on a whim. Soon, his writing led him to the corners. He jumped off the stool and wrote his final answer on the bottom right. He faced the classroom looking flour-bombed—his face and body were powdered with white chalk.
The kids, seated on an embroidered carpet, looked dumbfounded with their mouths open. The teacher and a couple are seated on stools at the back. They, too, have their mouths open.
"Uhm... Mistress Cristina..." the woman tapped the teacher next to her, who was still in shock.
"O-oh... My apologies," Mistress Cristina frantically took out her calculator. She is pressing the buttons with thought and hesitation, solving the math problem bit by bit. The classroom was occupied with dead air as Mistress Cristina struggled with her calculator. *GASP!* Mistress Cristina's eyes and mouth turned round when she saw “0” on her calculator. The woman and man next to her were intrigued; they accidentally shoved Mistress Cristina to take a peek. "E-ehem!" Mistress Cristina cleared her throat and the couple shamefully fixed their behavior. She straightened up her blouse and realigned her eyeglasses. "Uno!" she called the boy in a strict tone. "Your answer on the board is correct!" The classroom suddenly sounded with cheers and claps for Uno.
"That's my boy! You're coming with us!" the man jumped from his stool and grinned from pride and joy. The woman is teary-eyed with a gentle smile on her face. Mistress Cristina smiled and clapped for Uno in a restrained and formal manner. Uno melted in front of the classroom. He blushed and grinned; his gapped teeth exposed.
"Alright, kids... lunchtime!" The kids rose with joy and excitement. They chattered and darted toward the exit door, turning the wide carpet into a sea of creases and wrinkles.
"You are SOOO COOL!" Uno's friend praised him fervently.
Another kid embraced them in a chokehold. "Come on let's eat so we can play touchball!" he dragged his two friends out of the classroom.
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Mistress Cristina and the couple remained in the classroom. "Uno is a math wizard!" the man in coat exclaimed. "As the leading economist of the mainland, he will have a bright future with me!"
"...and he looks just like my son, who's now in heaven..." the wife added as she wiped her tears with her handkerchief.
Mistress Cristina's serious face eased off. "You've passed the hurdles of paperwork, home studies, and background checks. I'm certain that Uno will have a successful life with you." Then, she reached for her rectangular handbag and took out some documents. "Just a few pieces of paperwork and you can take Uno with you," she handed over the documents to the man.
"Thank you for helping us since Day 1, Mistress Cristina. Well, we should be heading now," the man bid farewell. His wife embraced Mistress Cristina before they walked out of the classroom.
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"Ugghhh... What a mess," Mistress Cristina's head is spinning at the sight of the crumpled carpet, sprinkled with colored notebooks and pens all over. She looked straight and got dizzier as she saw the mathematical chaos on the board. She trudged the messy carpet, careful not to step on the kids' pens and notebooks. Finally, she reached the powdery front desk and took out a chalk-dusted rag. She wiped the board downward; chalk snowing down the floor. Suddenly, the wind gusted through the open window, creating a cloud of chalk around Mistress Cristina. She coughed like a cat with a hairball in its throat. The wind soon subsided and Mistress Cristina went rushing to the window. But as she held the panes, she saw someone below the window: A young man, sitting close to the wall and hugging his knees. His golden curly hair draped him as he leaned his head on his arms. Mistress Cristina leaned on the window and watched the kids from afar, throwing the ball and running merrily. *Sigh...* “You were stalking the adoptive parents again. Vincent! Aren't you supposed to be working on your graduation?”
The young man jerked and turned his head around. “I... I'm sorry Mistress Cristina...”
The teacher looked disappointed. “I know it isn't your fault that no one wants to adopt you... but you're turning 18! You should focus on graduating from the orphanage rather than dreaming about getting adopted,” she said bluntly to Vincent, who curled below the window.
Vincent felt her words like a knife stabbing his heart. He hugged himself tighter and recalled the only time that someone wanted him—his first and last adoption.
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"Happy 4th Birthday, Vincent!" his adoptive mother cheerfully greeted him with a birthday cake in her hands. Vincent's eyes are sparkling while looking at the warm candlelight. "Go on. Blow the candles and make a wish," she urged him.
"I wi-th pat-hels and cray'ns!" Vincent blurted before he huffed and puffed.
"Ahihihi!" Mom giggled.
The door burst open. "Love, I'm home! Sorry, I'm late," Vincent's adoptive father arrived home hastily. "Happy birthday Vincent!" he smiled and greeted him as he put down his stuff.
"Love, where is it?" Mom asked.
"Oh! Here it is. I almost drowned in the market crowd just to buy these," Dad handed over a paperbag before hurrying to his bedroom to change.
“Thank you, Love!” Mom, then, took out a box laced with a red ribbon from the papebag. "Vincent, Dad brought you a gift!" she presented it to her child, whose mouth was wide open in awe.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“For mee!?” He took and shook the gift, wondering what could be inside.
“Open it,” Mom urged. He grabbed the whole ribbon and struggled to remove it. Mom taught him to pull one end and soon, he untied the ribbon.
He opened the box with excitement; turned into confusion when he saw what's inside. “Toy ca-yage?”
Mom knew he wasn't happy. “..Well, what will you say to Dad?”
“Thanks Dad!” Vincent smiled and thanked his dad loudly.
"You are welcome, son!" Dad replied from his bedroom.
While Vincent was inspecting his new toy, his mom was looking inside the paperbag. “Vincent, I also have a gift for you... Ta-da!”
“My wi-th!” he dropped his new toy when he saw a rainbow of pastels and crayons, and a sketchbook with a cover of cartoonish animals.
Mom gave her colorful gifts to Vincent and noticed him dropped Dad's gift. “Now now, don't leave Dad's gift lying on the floor.
“Sowee, Mom!” Vincent immediately picked up his toy and hugged it beside his art stuff. “Thank youu!” he reached his mom and kissed her on the cheek. Mom's gentle face lightened up. Vincent was very happy from the bottom of his heart.
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Vincent spent all his time, drawing. Day by day, he filled the white pages of his sketchbook with yellow flowers, green grasses, and blue skies—the scenery outside of their wooden home. He imagined himself and his parents in a fantasy world; his mom, seated on a carriage lifted by colorful balloons; his dad swimming in a pool of purple wine; himself, smelling the pink flowers that encircled him.
Soon, he ran out of blank pages and cried to his mom. They went to the market that day. The market had a sea of people, with their noises waving through the hot and humid air. Vincent shyly smiled at the friendly vendor when he got a new sketchbook from him. He hugged his new sketchbook and Mom patted his head. The crowd receded on their way back home. Vincent is striding ahead of his Mom. He's holding his sketchbook over his head while absentmindedly looking at the cartoonish animals on the sketchbook cover. “VINCENT!!!” Mom yelled and shoved her child. They were hit by two charging horses, followed by the wheels and the body of a crashing carriage.
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"Ugghhh..." Vincent slowly opens his eyes and sees the pastel yellow sheets of his canopy bed. A nearby lamp is emitting a warm soft light, enveloping his close surroundings. Vincent tries to sit up but stiffens when he feels completely sore and painful. He slowly lifts his arms and sees reddish cuts and purplish bruises all over. Vincent is horrified.
“You're awake,” he hears his dad's voice, superseding horror with relief.
He slightly nods and sees his dad's dim figure, leaning on a window and staring at the night sky. “Dad... where Mom?”
“She's dead.”
Vincent suddenly feels great emptiness. He desires to see his mom and feel her warm embrace. “Momyyy! Mommyyy! Where Mommyy!?” Vincent is crying in distress.
Dad calmly walks toward him. The lamplight illuminates his swollen reddish eyes. “SHUT UP!!!” his roar echoes in the room. Vincent is sobbing and gasping. He forces to move his injured arms to wipe the tears and snot on his face. “If you didn't pester my wife to buy your stupid sketchbook, she'll still be alive!” Dad shouts his lungs out while pointing his finger at Vincent. Vincent grabs the bedsheet. He's trying his best to hold back his tears, scared of his dad. But Dad gives off a deadlier stare when he sees the newly-bought sketchbook on a nearby desk. “Why is this still here!!?” He grabs the sketchbook and tears it numerous times.
Vincent's heart sinks. “Ih'm sowee, Dad...”
"Don't call me Dad! You are NOT my son! We just picked you up from that shoddy orphanage!" He walks out of the room and slams the door.
Vincent hides under the blanket. "Mommmyyy..." he whispers as tears and snot flow down his face. Afraid that his dad might come back, he silently cries.
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Dusk paints the sky with warm golden hues. Hundreds of sunflowers are basking in the effulgence of the falling sun. At the sunflower field's navel, Vincent and his dad are standing in front of a pile of rocks and a make-do grave marker. “Buh-bye Mom!” Vincent puts a wreath of sunflowers on the grave. His dad remains still; tears flooding over his crumpled face.
Months passed and Dad buried at home. The living room is reeking of beer from empty bottles scattering across the floor. All day, Dad stares blankly at his wife's painted portrait on the wall. All night, Dad whimpers “Love” in his sleep. He puts food on the table but seems to be blind to Vincent. Vincent watches his dad from the door of his bedroom. He wants to hug him but is traumatized by his wrath. And so, Vincent just spends his time in his room. He collected and straightened the torn pages of his sketchbook. On one piece, he draws a stick figure of his dad, vegetating on a wooden settee with a beer in his hand. On another, he draws his own stick figure, holding pastels and crayons while surrounded by torn bits of paper. He marks the white papers with jagged lines and cold colors, save for one drawing: a stick figure of his mom with cursive wings and a halo, flying over clouds and a rainbow. Vincent decorated a blank bedroom wall with drawings from his old and new sketchbooks.
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A month passed: *knock, knock, knock,* someone is waiting outside the house's front door.
Vincent unhides from his blanket and runs excitedly from his bedroom to the living room. "Daddyyy!" he pulls out the door and screams in joy. His high spirits, however, drop to confusion as he sees a young adult Mistress Cristina.
*Gasp!* Mistress Cristina's eyes and mouth open in shock, seeing Vincent painted in brown dirt accompanied by a rotten odor. She peeks at the living room and sees a messy jungle of leftover foods, beer bottles, and used garments. The indoor air stinks of spoiled foods, alcohol, and body odor, altogether. Mistress Cristina's head is spinning and whirling. “Where-sh your dad?” she pinches her nose and asks.
“Dad buy milk.”
*Gasp!* Mistress Cristina enters the living room. She searches every dirty corner of the house to find Dad. Then, she goes into Vincent's room and sees his drawings plastered on a wall. She examines each drawing, starting with vividly-colored full pages and ending with monochromatic torn pieces. The last drawing of Dad, he's holding what seems like a bag and standing outside the house. The last drawings of Vincent, he's either looking at the window, drawing, or hiding in the blanket, alone in a dark room. “Oh, dear child!” Mistress Cristina hugs dirty and smelly Vincent. She cries silent tears as her head is side to side with him.
They return to the orphanage much to Vincent's tantrums and protests; he is hoping that his dad will come back.
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News on the misfortunes of Vincent's family is flying around the bustling market of Paz. Everyone has their own twist on what really happened.
“The dad never came back. Authorities combed in and out of Paz without finding any trace. Perhaps he's dead,” a coach driver tells his colleagues as they band beside their parked carriages.
“Nah-ah! He abandoned his adopted kid and went to the mainland. Poor guy lost his wife and his job because of that kid—I'd do the same!” another coach driver butts in.
“That kid is an embodiment of bad luck! Those couple were living on cloud nine. Since they took him, the woman died and the man went missing. Aww, how unlucky...” an old woman says to her matron customer as she hand over a live hen.
“Oh!? Maybe he's cursed!? That kid showed up in front of the orphanage's door as an infant in a basket; who knows where he really came from!?” the matron customer opines hysterically.
Versions of Vincent's story reach the orphanage. Kids tailor their own; some accuse Vincent of killing his mom and dad. Mistress Cristina disapproves of their mistreatment but she's not there all the time—busy with running the orphanage. Wounded by hurtful words, Vincent takes refuge in drawing quietly in a corner. Adoptive parents pass on him. From a distance, he watches the other kids leave the orphanage one by one.
🌸TO BE CONTINUED🌸