I was born in an isolated village, stuck in a world filled with common misunderstandings, twisted perceptions, and nefarious lies. The girl I thought would love me back snuck into my head like a seed germinating from a grudge, giving me the hope I had been looking for and, simultaneously, an arbitration for my fate to be judged. Her presence appeared to be an incentive to bring back my soul marginalized from the norm that stays intolerant but ended up etiolating my life and letting it rest in ultimate darkness. I would have forgotten all those tarnished memories like snakes shed their skins, but ironically kindness had extinguished when I asked barely a portion of it.

I looked over the snow and found a water puddle above which hot air swirled and appeared to smile at me. A breeze brushed my neck which triggered my sorrow. Following my instincts, I walked towards the puddle. The snow had occupied the land like a tyrant invading a new territory. Its scrunch was rhythmically presented. “This actually happened,” I whispered to myself while squeezing my fist, and my feet were grounded by lingering memories and flashbacks in my mind: my mother’s knotted white hairs in which I see years of effort to raise me up, her wrinkled hands on which veins are there to remind me of all the “knowledge” and “advice” she has surrounded me with, and her abnormal behavior last night, through which I was fortunate enough to survive and now I have this rare opportunity to stop lying to myself for the first time. The headache took control of my nerves; I knew the sad memory had come back again, but I did not resist it this time. I lay on the snow and closed my eyes.

“Mom, I will be back soon, dinner is at the top right section of the refrigerator.” That was one of the countless moments that I replaced the actual name of an object with a generic sentence. This made sense to my mom, and I used this way to communicate with her. She clearly had no idea what a freezer was, so it would be fruitless to even mention that to her.

“Stay safe, K.”  My mom was an amputee. She used all her force on her left hand to support her body, so she could reach the metal frame of the painting hung on the wall. Even though she sometimes hurt her fingers while cleaning the sharp frame, she never stopped doing it every day. Mom drew a portrait of me, storing her hope in it and expecting my life to be filled with art and happiness.

“Don’t forget the things I always told you, Kars. Get back as soon as you finish, got it?” She placed her index finger on her middle finger, forming an outline of a pigeon, and put her thumb right below the two. This hand gesture was created by mom; we did this every time I went to work.

I did it back and smiled at her. I stared at the portrait shortly and hurried out to grab the remnants of branches and used them to form a temporary barricade to keep my mom safe. After fixing all the branches with a coarse rope, I hustled to Jackson Coffee. The portrait embarrassed me as I knew mom’s expectation was far beyond my capability. From my pocket, I took out a paper ball filled with eraser marks on both sides and a dull pencil to write down my promise: that one day, I would become my mom’s artist.

Raindrops kissed my sleeves as if they were desperate to become my friends. I rolled up my sleeves as hard as I could until it hurt and my elbows turned red. Most people might have conceived of rain as a vexatious child, wandering around the room without any intentions and messing up here and there shamelessly. However, sometimes rain was my best companion on my journey. Instead of seeking a perfect reason to describe how satisfying it was visually to see the transparent rainbow and smell the refreshing scent, the friendship was something I had never been blessed with. Every single raindrop patted my shoulder in an amicable way, like an understanding girl whose fierce crossness is never shown or an artist improvising on his scratch paper, leaving all the necessary marks along the journey to form the final piece. Dust left on my suit combined with the raindrops, changing its appearance to a zigzag pattern with blue and green crossing each other. When I walked on the street, my face stayed calm, but I truly felt satisfied as people would not have time to judge my innate physical features while I had this camouflage.

That afternoon seemed plain. Everything was set up perfectly well, lest subsequent things were not traumatic enough to me and I might survive. Through rags at the end of my left arm I was able to see half of my watch, realizing the hour mark had nearly been reached by the hour hand at eleven, the time I was supposed to do my daily work at Jackson Coffee. I normally would not stop for anything when I walked down this street as there was not anything similar between me and people I saw on the street. Nevertheless, the emanating smell of a grilled sausage and a mellifluous voice caught me off guard. I accidentally shuffled some people out of the way to get a clear view. People looked at me confused after they lurched forward, whispering brutally honest phrases that melted my identity like glaciers becoming water. I reluctantly apologized for my temporary rudeness and swiftly turned to my motive: a girl whose age was something I was not firm of dressed in a purple knit dress, in which the figure of her body was nicely presented. My vision fell on her bracelet when she swiped sweat on her forehead. It was formed with several transparent spherical objects, the color of which were purple. Momentarily I could not move my vision away from her like Eve was obsessed by the Serpent’s apple.

“It is fine. Just leave it there, Jayce.” Her words and tone were one of those rare kinds–like the ending of a euphonious performance from an ancient cinema and the desire to taste chopped apples before Christmas Eve, which rarely happened for me and my mom.

“Sis, is that really appropriate? I will pick it up.” He bent over and rolled up his sleeve but stopped the second he placed his hand on the sausage.

“Leave it there, Jayce. Someone will pick it up, don’t you know?” This was told to her brother while she smiled and had one of her arms on his shoulder. Wrinkles started to show up on his shoulder; perhaps that was the way she preferred her message to be conveyed and accepted.

“Sis, this will be quick.” Jayce’s upper brow looked confused and seemed resistant to her idea.

“Don’t embarrass us.” Her untenable commands were perfectly sheltered by a harsh tone.

“Fine, Zoe.” As soon as the girl had revealed her words he gave up as if he knew nothing would change afterwards.

I headed to Jackson Coffee, glimpsing their shadows vanishing around the corner of the street. The next second I leaned forward. My mom’s principles echoed in my mind again. I heard her criticizing me for wasting food, although that was not accurate to the current situation. I dreaded opposing my mother, so I went up and picked up the sausage. The everlasting smell of the spice used on the sausage was one of the kinds I had never tried before; I followed my consciousness and brought the sausage closer to my mouth. I was not ashamed to admit that the smell of the sausage had already conquered me. I did not want others to detect this from me, but my sweat betrayed me as it fell on the rug I stood on. I was not aware Zoe was observing me the whole time and I was about to have my first bite of this rare gift.

“Sorry to interrupt you, would you like to work in my house? We happen to need a person to take care of our kitchen. Oh, the pay might be better as well.” Zoe looked at the badge hung on my shoulder. Her eyes glanced at me, and her voice indicated I would be the person she was looking for.

“I would like to, but I need to talk with my mother first. She has some physical issues and needs me to take care of her.” I placed my right hand on my nose to cover my mouth and looked down when I said all of this. I hesitated a while after disclosing this news to her.

“Don’t worry. You can let me know tomorrow near the lake in our town. I take a walk there every morning. Oh, hope your mom gets better soon!” That was the most innocent smile I have ever seen in my life. She lifted her dress slightly and leaned forward to me to make sure I could hear it well.

“Thanks. I love the flower on your bracelet. Isn’t that Campion? I think it was mentioned in a book I’ve read.”

“Really? Are you serious? Oh, yeah, it might be that one. I didn’t know that, apparently.” A laugh splintered her throat while she looked at me surprised and covered her mouth with her hands, in which the hidden message was hard to tell.

“That’s fine. We can talk about it more when we meet next time.”

“Sure, we’ll talk more about those things! They are so interesting. Here, you can take this flower.” Zoe took off the flower attached to her bracelet and handed it to me.

Her voice, appearance, and outstanding politeness granted me solace between us. I was also glad for the moment I could help her with the knowledge I had learned. I walked back to my room, realizing all the wooden branches had fallen apart on the ground. When I entered the room, mom was still sleeping, and I walked slowly just in case she was half-awake.

“You are back, Kars. Today seems earlier than before. Is our dinner ready?”

Her eyebrows went down a little and asked an ordinary question with an abnormal facial expression as usually I could see her teeth every time she talked. It was not like a question. It was more like testing something she had already known.

“Yes, mom, I actually met a girl named Zoe. She invited me to her house and offered me work there. She is nice and I was impressed she doesn’t even know Campion. The flower, mom, the flower you taught me about before. I told her I read about it in a book, but actually it is from you. And…”

“Zoe? How sure are you that Zoe is her name?” Mom’s voice amplified as she said this, and even though she could not stand up, her back became extremely straight when showing her strong attitude.

“I am very confident. Look at the flower she gave me.” I brought the flower closer to mom, hoping she would be amazed like I was.

“Don’t bring that near me. That is a bad symbol.” Mom’s eyes pierced through me as if I had deeply offended her.

“Mom, this time I want to make a decision on my own. She has a brother named Jayce. When I talked with her, he was next to her the whole time. They paid attention to what I said. See, this is the bracelet she gave me.”

My mother became outraged when she saw the flower, and the phrase “on my own” seemed like a blade, penetrating her heart and making her insane instantaneously. Her eyes became red and teary. I promised I knew the reason. That was the first time I talked back to her and acted in an unexpected way.

“I am trying to protect you. You know what those kinds of people are. And now you even dare to oppose me?” Her teeth grinding and voice burning struck my brain like a thunderstorm. The knife appeared in my vision, closer each second. My eyes were shut down entirely when she talked so I could avoid witnessing how I would get hurt. The clatter was followed by a loud falling sound and my mom ceased talking after that. The painting fell on her body, refining the faded metal frame from obsolete bleakness to an erubescent masterpiece. Her body collapsed and her arms went limp. My fingers were like magnets attracted to her forehead, moving upside down and wishing her heat could permanently last through my fingerprints.

The next day, I went to the lake and Zoe had been waiting for me with sausage in the plastic bag she brought. I shared with her what happened to my mother. Then I started to feel hurt, as though she was not someone who had to be kind, caught between her sanctimonious and rational preaching. The only thing that echoed in my mind was “Things that happened are meant to happen. Besides, you have already wasted most of your time taking care of her anyway. How much more can you possibly steal from an amputee like her?” My heart was burning when she said all of this as it was exactly the opposite of the perfect impression Zoe gave to me.

I refused her work invitation and came back to the place I left. I hugged my mom’s body and started crying. At that moment, I knew her soul was filled with pulverized memories and determinations that I refused to complete for her. When I arrived at the lake, I felt my mom was still with me. By then Zoe had already left. I moved in a hesitant way and noticed the water puddle was still there, and I saw the knife. I woke up from the dream, holding the knife that was left on the ice. I looked at the ice and mom’s voice clanged in my ear again. My blood alleviates the gorgeous whiteness in the scene.

“Sis, would the knife help him?” Jayce asked while sowing seeds in his garden.

“Wait till it blooms.” A wry smile twisted Zoe’s face.

“What will bloom? My seeds?” Jayce replied confused.

Zoe poked a crevice in the soil and planted a seed into it, said:

“Your seeds. And his rage, the thing he has misinterpreted as hope.”