A young boy silhouetted by the hiding sun, serenely stood in an open land waiting for the darkness to bleed. His feet got swollen caused by rusting nails. He had bruises on his arms marked by bamboo sticks shattered by his mother. He had dehydrated lips and hefty eyes filled with dried tears resembling his passion in art. But to his mother, it means nothing.
As the artist wiped the young boy's tears, he started his words, "Hey, young sober, why do you always escape when your mother bursts out in anger? Are you that afraid to embrace your punishment for coming home messy?"
He answered, "It is not that I am afraid of being hit with a bamboo stick, sir. I wonder why my mother always finds me excruciating. It feels like I am just a dust that clings on one's hair that should be eliminated to let people breathe. To her, stains are more essential than I am."
The artist patted the boy's head, "Cool boy, sometimes, stains in our shirts are like mistakes. We should be careful with every action that we take because these stains might hurt people. For them, stains are something that could destroy the quality of the shirt. No matter how they eliminate the stains, glitches will remain. That's why your mother feels upset every time you go home with stains of paint in your shirt."
The boy started to mumble, "Sir, what if these stains make me happy? Colors in my shirt let my heart beat like dancing butterflies inside my tummy. These colors dissolve my darkest days as if they cleanse the tears caused by my mother's loudest scream. Now tell me mister, are these stains still a mistake?"
All of a sudden the artist was thunderstruck when he saw the beauty of stains of paint on the wall.
He queried the boy, "Whose face is this? It is truly a masterpiece! How beautiful! How long did it take to come up with this? Wow!"
"It's my mother."
Awesomely written