A Light In The Dark
“I’m scared…” He will mutter to himself.
“Don’t send me away again!” He will beg.
“Don’t! Don’t hit me!” He will scream after the cold backs.
“I hate this world…” He whispered.
He’s afraid. He’s scared.
But did anybody bother about him? No.
Did anyone let out a comforting hand? No.
He begged. He pleaded. He cried.
But did they stop the beatings? No.
Did they keep him by their side? No.
Did they turn their heads? The answer is still no.
The boy once hated the world; he was once afraid of this cruel world; he feared the people; but that was all before they came into his life.
Let me tell you guys his story.
There was once a boy. To him, the fact that he was born was already hateful to him. To him, he shouldn’t even be born; at least not like this, not by them. Indeed, he hated both his parents. He hated his father for leaving his mother; he hated his mother for being a mistress; he hated both of them for abandoning him.
He became a foster child.
For many years, he was being adopted by many families. Yes, you read it right, many families. It seems that the families who adopted him all wanted him as just a servant or a slave. Or maybe, they know about his past and dislike him. Thus, at the young age of 7, the first year he got adopted, hell started for him.
He was being ordered around, by his ‘mother’, ‘father’ and heck, even his supposedly fat and round younger ‘brother’ treated him like some dirt in the house.
Coffee making, laundries, cooking, all sort of housework, he had done it all.
Dirty clothes, dirty attic, all those applied to him too.
But he guessed that they got bored of him and decided to send him away.
However, just when he thought his 3 years of hell had come to an end, it became worse.
The second so-called family of his was just an old lady with not so pleasant looking features and one who never seemed to smile.
The 10 year old boy’s hope was all dash when he saw her with her walking stick.
And so, hell started all over again.
Though she doesn’t really bossed or ordered him around like the previous family; this old lady seems to have issues with her temper control and she always ends up hurting him. Whether it’s beating him with her walking stick, pinching him hard on any part of his body or slapping him hard when he’s just asking what she would like for lunch.
In the end, the foster care’s staff noticed all those bruises and scars and that is when the 1 year with the old lady ends.
He was only 11 years old then, but he’s starting to view things differently and he had long lost the warmth and shine of a young boy should have.
His stay in the next family did not help either.
In fact, they made it worse.
Filthy rich, snobby and arrogant would be the right words to describe the couple who adopted the boy. The boy never understood why they adopted him. But he guessed that it could be for the sake of the fact that they are rich enough to adopt a child and they are kind enough to take care of him.
Another thing that the boy understood was, if they adopted him to show off, why did they lock him up every time when there are respectable guests?
The boy’s new house was big.
Really big.
But he never really gets to have a good look at it because most of his time spent was in his dark room.
And it was during those times, things started to get worse.
He started to hate the world.
He started to hate himself.
You will always find him at a corner of his room; hugging his legs tightly to himself; whispering and muttering things that one can’t really catch.
To him, the world is long gone.
To him, there’s no warmth or light.
To him, he himself was already dead because he hated himself for being alive.
And so, he ends up hurting himself sub consciously.
Especially when the thought of him being alive is so wrong is playing around his mind.
When he’s awoke from his self hurting, he could feel the tears on his cheeks, he could feel the pain and he knows that he’s alive which made him even more hateful of himself.
He shuns people away or rather, he shuns away from people.
He’s afraid of people.
And maybe that is why, he was once again being sent away by another family.
This time round, the foster care was not able to find another family to adopt him that fast as compared to the previous times.
He spent most of his time in his small room in the foster care anyways.
He figured he must have scared many possible families away but at that point of time, he was not bothered at all.
The lesser people bothering him, the better.
He’s 18 when he got adopted again.
Yes, I know, it was kind of weird for someone to adopt a child of this age and it’s even weirder that they decided to adopt him even if he shunned away from them.
Even when he begged the staff to not send him away again.
Even when he expressed his most utter hate for them.
He thought they would change their mind and he would be in his own dark, small room again.
But they did.
They’re not like any other families he had.
They called him by his name, nicely and with love.
Not just a ‘Hey’ or ‘You boy’ or ‘Idiot’ or ‘Stupid’.
Also, they treated him like their own.
They had one daughter, a year younger than him, but they never showed biasness towards her nor did she order him around.
In fact, she was the nicest to him.
She was the first to notice his weird habit of always cooping in his own room.
She was the first to notice his abnormality.
But yet, she was not afraid nor was she disgusted. She stayed by his side when he needs her. She was always there to stop him when he ends up hurting himself. She’s always there to share her smile and warmth with him.
She’s always there.
On his 19th birthday - because they’ve missed his 18th birthday - they celebrated for him. They blow the candles on the cake; he received presents; he understood the real meaning of birthday and he smiled for the first time in his 19 years of life.
They slowly brought him out to look at the outside world.
He started to learn how to accept people.
He started to talk more.
He started to learn how to love himself more.
He started to learn how to love this world more.
He started to learn how to love the others more.
He started to learn that there’re beautiful things in this world too.
There are many things he’s still afraid of but;
There are also many things he’s learning to face…
“Edmund? What are you thinking of? You’re in a daze.”
“Nothing.”
My name is Edmund Lionel... the surname I adopted from them...
This is my story...
“Don’t send me away again!” He will beg.
“Don’t! Don’t hit me!” He will scream after the cold backs.
“I hate this world…” He whispered.
He’s afraid. He’s scared.
But did anybody bother about him? No.
Did anyone let out a comforting hand? No.
He begged. He pleaded. He cried.
But did they stop the beatings? No.
Did they keep him by their side? No.
Did they turn their heads? The answer is still no.
The boy once hated the world; he was once afraid of this cruel world; he feared the people; but that was all before they came into his life.
Let me tell you guys his story.
There was once a boy. To him, the fact that he was born was already hateful to him. To him, he shouldn’t even be born; at least not like this, not by them. Indeed, he hated both his parents. He hated his father for leaving his mother; he hated his mother for being a mistress; he hated both of them for abandoning him.
He became a foster child.
For many years, he was being adopted by many families. Yes, you read it right, many families. It seems that the families who adopted him all wanted him as just a servant or a slave. Or maybe, they know about his past and dislike him. Thus, at the young age of 7, the first year he got adopted, hell started for him.
He was being ordered around, by his ‘mother’, ‘father’ and heck, even his supposedly fat and round younger ‘brother’ treated him like some dirt in the house.
Coffee making, laundries, cooking, all sort of housework, he had done it all.
Dirty clothes, dirty attic, all those applied to him too.
But he guessed that they got bored of him and decided to send him away.
However, just when he thought his 3 years of hell had come to an end, it became worse.
The second so-called family of his was just an old lady with not so pleasant looking features and one who never seemed to smile.
The 10 year old boy’s hope was all dash when he saw her with her walking stick.
And so, hell started all over again.
Though she doesn’t really bossed or ordered him around like the previous family; this old lady seems to have issues with her temper control and she always ends up hurting him. Whether it’s beating him with her walking stick, pinching him hard on any part of his body or slapping him hard when he’s just asking what she would like for lunch.
In the end, the foster care’s staff noticed all those bruises and scars and that is when the 1 year with the old lady ends.
He was only 11 years old then, but he’s starting to view things differently and he had long lost the warmth and shine of a young boy should have.
His stay in the next family did not help either.
In fact, they made it worse.
Filthy rich, snobby and arrogant would be the right words to describe the couple who adopted the boy. The boy never understood why they adopted him. But he guessed that it could be for the sake of the fact that they are rich enough to adopt a child and they are kind enough to take care of him.
Another thing that the boy understood was, if they adopted him to show off, why did they lock him up every time when there are respectable guests?
The boy’s new house was big.
Really big.
But he never really gets to have a good look at it because most of his time spent was in his dark room.
And it was during those times, things started to get worse.
He started to hate the world.
He started to hate himself.
You will always find him at a corner of his room; hugging his legs tightly to himself; whispering and muttering things that one can’t really catch.
To him, the world is long gone.
To him, there’s no warmth or light.
To him, he himself was already dead because he hated himself for being alive.
And so, he ends up hurting himself sub consciously.
Especially when the thought of him being alive is so wrong is playing around his mind.
When he’s awoke from his self hurting, he could feel the tears on his cheeks, he could feel the pain and he knows that he’s alive which made him even more hateful of himself.
He shuns people away or rather, he shuns away from people.
He’s afraid of people.
And maybe that is why, he was once again being sent away by another family.
This time round, the foster care was not able to find another family to adopt him that fast as compared to the previous times.
He spent most of his time in his small room in the foster care anyways.
He figured he must have scared many possible families away but at that point of time, he was not bothered at all.
The lesser people bothering him, the better.
He’s 18 when he got adopted again.
Yes, I know, it was kind of weird for someone to adopt a child of this age and it’s even weirder that they decided to adopt him even if he shunned away from them.
Even when he begged the staff to not send him away again.
Even when he expressed his most utter hate for them.
He thought they would change their mind and he would be in his own dark, small room again.
But they did.
They’re not like any other families he had.
They called him by his name, nicely and with love.
Not just a ‘Hey’ or ‘You boy’ or ‘Idiot’ or ‘Stupid’.
Also, they treated him like their own.
They had one daughter, a year younger than him, but they never showed biasness towards her nor did she order him around.
In fact, she was the nicest to him.
She was the first to notice his weird habit of always cooping in his own room.
She was the first to notice his abnormality.
But yet, she was not afraid nor was she disgusted. She stayed by his side when he needs her. She was always there to stop him when he ends up hurting himself. She’s always there to share her smile and warmth with him.
She’s always there.
On his 19th birthday - because they’ve missed his 18th birthday - they celebrated for him. They blow the candles on the cake; he received presents; he understood the real meaning of birthday and he smiled for the first time in his 19 years of life.
They slowly brought him out to look at the outside world.
He started to learn how to accept people.
He started to talk more.
He started to learn how to love himself more.
He started to learn how to love this world more.
He started to learn how to love the others more.
He started to learn that there’re beautiful things in this world too.
There are many things he’s still afraid of but;
There are also many things he’s learning to face…
“Edmund? What are you thinking of? You’re in a daze.”
“Nothing.”
My name is Edmund Lionel... the surname I adopted from them...
This is my story...