Posted by: Bennedict December 22, 2020
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In a town, there lived a boy who used to work in a small hotel. His boss would often abuse him even for the smallest error. The boy had no fate to even have a square meal a day. Whenever he was beaten up cruelly, he would go up to an old tree, nearby the hotel and would cry quietly expressing his hidden sorrows to the tree. He would show to the tree, his burnt skin of his hands, marks of sticks on his legs and marks of fingers on his cheeks. He would scream several times, asking whereabouts of his mother, long gone.
While washing the big pots and the utensils of the hotel, he would often think to himself, ‘The stories of these lifeless pots and mine are the same, every day we burn in fire but cannot really cry. If my mother were here, I would have cried on her lap telling all my stories!”.
One day, his boss beat him again for no apparent reason. That day, after finishing off his assigned tasks, the boy quietly ran up to the same tree. To his dismay, when he reached there, the tree was nowhere to be seen. It so happened that the tree was already taken by the municipality truck to the mill. Not finding the beloved tree of his, the boy cried for long kneeling before its remaining.
Sometime after, he wiped off his tears from his face and walked straight away from there. That whole day, the cooking pots and the utensils, they all waited for him for the longest time, but he never returned.
In a town, there lived a boy who used to work in a small hotel. His boss would often abuse him even for the smallest error. The boy had no fate to even have a square meal a day. Whenever he was beaten up cruelly, he would go up to an old tree, nearby the hotel and would cry quietly expressing his hidden sorrows to the tree. He would show to the tree, his burnt skin of his hands, marks of sticks on his legs and marks of fingers on his cheeks. He would scream several times, asking whereabouts of his mother, long gone.
While washing the big pots and the utensils of the hotel, he would often think to himself, ‘The stories of these lifeless pots and mine are the same, every day we burn in fire but cannot really cry. If my mother were here, I would have cried on her lap telling all my stories!”.
One day, his boss beat him again for no apparent reason. That day, after finishing off his assigned tasks, the boy quietly ran up to the same tree. To his dismay, when he reached there, the tree was nowhere to be seen. It so happened that the tree was already taken by the municipality truck to the mill. Not finding the beloved tree of his, the boy cried for long kneeling before its remaining.
Sometime after, he wiped off his tears from his face and walked straight away from there. That whole day, the cooking pots and the utensils, they all waited for him for the longest time, but he never returned.