My Father Said: You Cannot Changes Your World— what world?

The heirs, the inheritors of our fathers, might be the great sin or the braveness of him being a man. It's somehow a great deal that we become the best of what we are in the way they showed. There was one remarkable incident that happened when I was young when my father had nothing but a man unmannered, the men my mother's heart and my brother's eyes, the man who showed me that the world in the ground of the people of nothing but danger, he tells me that I will never change the world around me, forever we will be prisoned in the positions of his fang, nothing he said was true.

Abstract

This is the second day of the Creative writing challenge, where I make a creative write-up given the prompt as motivation to mold a story. At first, it was planned to be posted every other day, but I decided to make it a whole month. The level varies with different topics and plots. After I finish the entire 30 days, the story will be compiled. So it was just initials or a preview of the story, the whole plot still abstract.

Words for everyone, I am not a perfect being, so my writing looks likely.

On a Friday night, typical as the day of the 30th, my mother prepared a bowl of cooked rice designed at the table; my brother is looking at my mother. She had a bruise; I am a child under the innocent of gesture and thought. Still, I don't know what is happening in their mind or why my brother is worried? My mother is still looking at her best, her smile never fades, and her beauty remains as the youth never changed her. This bridges me a single remark that playing wasn't for her, as she promised she would play with me, but just a promise never becomes real.

This is the main point in which the injury turns, and I never had a chance to see her pain as I was busy playing in the neighbor's yard. My brother called and held me straight outside the house; then, I heard my father's small mad voice pointing at my mother's hound. Broken glass and she was a broken wrist. When I was inside, she would never show any pain, a smile full of love.

But that 30th day of the month changed my world; we were three all on the table. Excited as I was, weird things were happening. Just the bowl of rice; nothing had more. I look at them; they are quiet. I thought they were praying, yet it took minutes and hours. My brother knew things I didn't. How can I say something if I am mute? Just give them a signal; she just smiled.

Another more minutes and the rice already been cold, just like their moods. They knew things were happening, and I don't see how the odds things out.

Her hurrying thoughts clamored for utterance; I know something is weird. I don't hear any from my birth. But that is changing; my world is already changing. I listened to some small steps from the wooded floor our own. I looked at my brother to see nothing was worrying. This is usually not until my father came back home, some night was so silent, then I woke up suddenly the light was open, my mother and father were fighting.

I heard something from him, my very own father. He said, "He cant my faith, He can't change his world". The world I belong to is different from them, and I shall die I don't know why God suddenly gives me the hearing power, why I suddenly understand their words? I was born with nothing to hear, and I am used to that. Shall God give me the ability to listen to the world? Shall he give me this to understand the world? That they are not honest, they say something but never be sure to be like that.

For years now, no one knew what happened that night. Even I was confused why I suddenly heard a voice from my mother, the bad-mouthing of my father at the dining hall. I listened to the hidden truth where I blamed the point of father for his unfortunate. I am not a normal kid, so his life didn't come generally after I was born. The loss in his business was blamed because of his abnormal second son; he hurt my mother for the feeling I was not his child; there was no deceptive child in his genes.

For years, I pretended I didn't hear anything, that I was now a normal kid. I listened to the truth; they didn't need to censor the words that came into their mouth, for they knew I didn't hear anything. They are wrong; they are all wrong.

That might be the plan why that night was a miracle, for me to hear the truth, for me be looked beyond that people always lies.

The story of the Boy who pretends he didn't hear anything is a story most people do not always want to figure out who is honest. For those who wish to, the scene presented is fiction and brought only by imagination; the actual or real-life happened to live of people is only coincidental. Writer Eunoia initially wrote the short story on July 3, 2022, and the plot and sequence might be changed after the prompt end of the compilations. Thanks for reading...

Synopsis:

This is one piece part of the month-long challenge for creative writing, aiming to practice prompting thinking upon certain thoughts, following various topics.

Other Works;

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