Times can create a lot of sorrow.
Many years ago, when homeless children appeared on the streets, people would begin to reflect that there was a problem in this society.
later.
There are more and more homeless children.
People no longer reflect.
The cruel life takes away their time to think.
Little boy sitting on the street.
That dirty face has a pair of beautiful light blue eyes. He is a mixed race.
He lowered his head and meditated. The speeding cars turned into horses and passed by him. The asphalt road turned into soft grass. The street lights were like fireflies in the dark night. There was the sweet smell of grass in the air.
"May I have your name?"
"I don't have a name."
"Come with me, I can feed you."
The little boy followed the man.
He got into a car.
There were many four- and five-year-old children in the car.
They were all dirty and their clothes were in tatters, but their eyes were clear and there seemed to be hope shining in them.
The man didn't lie to them.
They do get enough to eat.
But there is one more task.
"Remember to act pitiful, those people will keep pestering them if they don't give you money..."
The man said something to them.
Then each child was given a tattered iron bowl.
They go out with empty bowls in the morning and come back with money in the evening.
Children who did not complete their assigned tasks were given leftovers.
The little boy often fails to complete the task because he doesn't look pitiful enough. His blond hair, fair skin, and thin face give him a different kind of temperament.
There was a little girl with white hair who would hide some supper for him.
"Why is your hair white?"
"I'm sick, so my parents don't want me."
The two are very good friends.
If time remains the same, this kind of life is actually not too bitter.
At least, he won't starve to death.
But after a few years, the man called all the children over.
"Now that you have grown up, you can no longer arouse sympathy from others. If this continues, everyone will not be able to eat..."
That night, the oldest child was called away.
When he came back the next day, he was pale and one arm was missing.
Later, some children were called away one after another.
Some came back with missing legs, some had their eyes gouged out, their ears cut off, and some had a lot of scratches on their faces.
Others never came back...
In terms of age, the next person should be the little girl with white hair.
"Why hasn't she come back yet?"
The sun sets in the west.
The man looked impatient.
Until nightfall, the little girl with white hair did not come back.
That night.
The little boy knocked on the man's door and said he had a way to make money.
The man called him inside.
"What can you do?"
"Uncle, please come closer. This method can't be heard by others."
The man moved closer.
Then a sharp iron bar pierced his heart.
Hot blood spurted on the little boy's face, and he smiled.
The man clutched his chest and staggered back.
He couldn't believe it.
How can a child get such strength
He was destined to not get an answer to this question.
The fallen body hit the ground, and blood flowed on the ground, giving it a strange beauty.
The little boy thought for a while and couldn't think of words to describe this beauty.
Maybe it's art.
He pushed open the door.
The bright white moonlight shines on the blood on his face.
The strong smell of blood made the children look frightened and they all got out of the way.
He started wandering again.
I also looked for the little girl with white hair, but found nothing.
A life of full meals and hungry meals made the little boy look even thinner.
One day, he picked up a box of watercolor pencils on the street.
He opened the box slowly and carefully, as if he was opening the door to another world.
"White hair..."
On the silent street, under the street lights in the dark night.
He began to picture the image of the little girl in his memory.
After finishing the painting, I also added a pair of wings.
Then he tried red.
Bright, like flowing blood.
He painted his image in red.
Red and white.
This is his first painting.
There is something indescribably strange about the crooked lines. They are not awkward, but somewhat abstract.
"Is this your first time painting? You're very good at painting, you have talent."
Very magnetic voice.
The little boy looked up.
The man was wearing a black robe, and his face was covered by a black hood, making it difficult to see clearly.
"Want to learn to draw?"
"think."
The little boy nodded solemnly.
"Let me teach you."
The man smiled, and the magnetic voice sounded very comfortable.
"Are you a great painter?"
"So be it."
"Then I'll call you teacher."
"Can."
"Teacher, do you have a name?"
"Zero."
the next morning.
The little boy woke up in a daze on the street.
He had a long dream.
He dreamed that he picked up a box of watercolor pens, and in the dream there was a teacher named Zero who taught him painting.
But when I woke up, there were no watercolor pens around me.
There are no paintings from last night.
Nothing at all.
The little boy felt lost.
He broke off a branch, dipped it in some standing water on the street, and tried to draw the things in his dream, and he succeeded!
after that.
Number Zero always appears in his dreams and teaches him various painting knowledge.
Although it was a dream, the little boy always felt that he was getting more and more sleepy during the day and lacked energy.
As if I didn't get enough sleep at night.
As he grew older, he would occasionally do odd jobs to earn some money, buy back drawing boards and other tools, and start his life as a street painter.
"Young man is amazing. He can draw quite well. Which training class did he come from?" someone passing by asked.
"I learned it in my dream." The young painter smiled shyly.
Number Zero appears less and less often in dreams.
The painting skills of little painters are enough.
But there was always a doubt in his mind.
This evening.
When he saw Zero in his dream again, he finally couldn't help but ask.
"Teacher, what is art?"
He felt that his paintings could not be called works of art.
It seems like something is missing.
Zero smiled and took out a small statue from his pocket.
"Snapped!"
He broke off one of the statue's arms.
"This is art."
The little painter suddenly understood.
Scenes from childhood to adulthood flashed before my eyes.
Those children with broken arms, those who lost their eyeballs, those whose calves were amputated...
Art comes from his life.
"I'll take you to a place where you can do whatever you want."
The little painter came there.
Red and blue blood flowed in mourning, and machinery and flesh began to collide.
He reveled in it.
He didn't want to wake up.
But after waking up.
His heart was filled with pain and suffering.
The cries and pleas for mercy of those people seemed to be echoing in his ears, and he turned them into dead monsters with his own hands.
"Luckily it was just a dream."
Those dreams are getting longer and longer.
During the day he began to feel lethargic.
Work and rest are reversed.
Gradually, he started sleeping during the day.
This time in the dream, there were two uninvited guests.
…
Good night, fellow book friends!
The fourth update added for Bridge Girl;
Thanks to the book friend for the reward in the distant sky.
(End of chapter)