“I’ve got to go. I leave the house to you. Take care of it and yourself. You know how it is nowadays. Thieves creep and rob from you everything, even your life.
“Yes, Master.” That's all he answered.
His Master left and closed the door behind him. He has been under his Master’s care ever since he was born. The Master is good to him; no matter how many times he commits mistakes, he will just say “Forgive me, Master” with all sincerity and he has been pitiful to him. For this reason, he believes that he will always be forgiven.
He continued with his paintings. The Master has taught him how to paint. His Master is a recognized painter all over the world. For reasons unknown to him, he’s been alone in this house until he arrived.
Someone has left him in his Master’s door when he was a baby. The Master took pity and cared for him since then. An old lady neighbor, friend of the Master, who lives close-by, has been like a mother to him and house caretaker too.
After a long day’s work, he felt exhausted. He didn’t realize that he got so absorbed with his work that he even forgot to eat. The matter with him, according to the Master, was that he’s a perfectionist beyond control. He never answered back to him, just shook his head and said to himself, “I want to be as great and powerful as you are, Master, for this world.”
He dropped his brushes and went outside the porch with a can of beer in his hand. It’s already dark. Without any idea of the time, less that he cared about it, he slumped himself into a swinging chair. The door was left half opened and didn’t realize nor cared about it.
He was looking at the main gate in front of him. It’s a wooden-made fence just like all the neighbors gates nearby. They lived in a huge vast land divided by fields of grass. The neighborhood used to be a quiet and safe one, until a news story two days ago had alarmed all the people of some unknown robbers going around with expertise in their delinquency.
He shrugged his shoulders about it when it crossed his mind. Slumped against the back of the chair. He closed his eyes trying to imagine what would be his next project even if the one he’s working on wasn’t finished yet. After a while, he fell asleep and snored deeply. He was so tired.
“Wake up!” “Wake up!”
The shout was so strong that the writer woke up. He fell asleep on top of his writing table with the pen still in his hand. He looked at his watch. It’s five in the morning. He rubbed his eyes to wake himself up more. Then, he decided to go for a cup of coffee, opened his radio and heard the early news. He looked around. He was alone in the room, who woke him up? He just smiled to himself.
“I told him to be watchful. I left the house without saying what time I’ll be back, since it depends when I’ll be finished with what I’ll have to do. I found him deeply asleep on the porch and the main door was wide opened. When I went in, all my paintings were gone.”
The radio interviewer then turned to ask another one.
“You can answer that? Are you sober now? How many cans of beers did you drink last night?”
“Oh, come on! I am not drunk! All that happened was I fell asleep.”
“Was this the first time it happened?”
No answer.
“Was this the first time it happened?”
“No.”
“How many times?”
“Many. I can’t remember.”
Then suddenly, a cry was heard.
“Oh, Father! Forgive me! You always do. Don’t be hard on me. I promise to change!”
Silence.
“Father!”
Loud cry.
“That’s all for today everyone. Be watchful!”
The interviewer ended the news.
The writer went back to his pen. Story ended, totally awakened.
Check for more: Tap below
(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar
