Chapter 124

Times can make a lot of sorrow.

Many years ago, when there were children vagrants on the street, people would start to reflect that there were problems in this society.

Later.

There are more and more homeless children.

People don't reflect anymore.

Cruel life deprived them of time to think.

The little boy is sitting on the street.

That dirty face has a pair of pale blue beautiful eyes, he is a half breed.

He bowed his head to ponder. The galloping car turned into a steed and passed by him. The asphalt road turned into a soft grass. The street lamp was a firefly in the night, and the air was sweet with grass.

"What's 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 are many four or five-year-old children in the car.

They were all dirty and ragged, but their eyes were clear and there seemed to be hope shining in them.

The man didn't cheat them.

They do have enough to eat.

But there is one more task.

"Remember to pretend to be poor, those people don't give money, they always pester them..."

The man said something to them.

Then each child was given a broken iron bowl.

They go out with empty bowls in the morning and come back with money in the evening.

Children who don't finish their assigned tasks can only eat leftovers.

The little boy often can't finish the task because he doesn't look pitiful enough. His golden hair, white skin and thin face give him a different temperament.

A little girl with white hair would hide some dinner for him.

"Why is your hair white?"

"I'm sick, so my parents don't want me."

Two people are very good friends.

If time goes on, this kind of life is not too bitter.

At least, they won't starve to death.

But a few years later, the man called all the children over.

"Now that you've grown up, you can't arouse the sympathy of others. If you go on like this, everyone can't eat..."

That night, the oldest child was called away.

When he came back the next day, he turned pale and lost one arm.

Later, after another, some children were called away.

Some came back with less legs, some had their eyes cut off, their ears cut off, and there were a lot of scratches on their faces.

Also, never come 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 didn't 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 in.

"What can you do?"

"Uncle, come closer. This method can't be heard."

The man came a little closer.

So a sharp iron bar went into his heart.

Hot blood gushed on the little boy's face. He was smiling.

The man covered his chest and staggered back.

He couldn't believe it.

A child, how can you get so much strength?

He is doomed to get no answer to this question.

Fallen body hit on the ground, blood flowing on the ground, there is a strange beauty.

The little boy thought about it and couldn't think of any words to describe the beauty.

Maybe it's art.

He pushed the door open.

The white moonlight was shining on the blood on his face.

The heavy smell of blood made the children look frightened and avoid.

He started wandering again.

I also searched for the little girl with white hair, but I got nothing.

A full and hungry life made the little boy look thinner.

One day, he found a box of watercolor pens on the street.

He opened the box slowly, carefully, as if opening the door of another world.

"White hair..."

On the silent street, under the streetlights of the night.

He began to paint the image of the little girl in his memory.

After the painting, a pair of wings were added.

Then he tried red.

Bright, like flowing blood.

He drew his own image in red.

Red and white.

This is his first painting.The crooked line has a kind of unspeakable anomaly, not awkward, some abstract.

"Painting for the first time? It's a good painting. It's talented. "

Very magnetic sound.

The little boy looked up.

The man was dressed in a black robe, and his face was covered with a black hood. He couldn't see clearly.

"Want to learn to draw?"

"Yes."

The little boy nodded solemnly.

"Let me teach you."

The man laughed. The magnetic voice sounded very comfortable.

"Are you a great painter?"

"I think so."

"Then I'll call you teacher."

"Yes."

"Teacher, do you have a name?"

"Zero."

The next morning.

The little boy woke up on the street in a daze.

He had a long dream.

He had a dream that he had found a box of watercolor pens. In his dream, a teacher named zero taught him to draw.

Can wake up, there is no watercolor pen.

No painting from last night.

Nothing.

The little boy was disappointed.

He broke a branch and got a little bit of water on the street. He tried to draw something in his dream, and he succeeded!

After that.

Number zero always appeared in his dreams and taught him all kinds of painting knowledge.

Although it was a dream, the little boy always felt more and more sleepy during the day and had no spirit.

As if I didn't sleep enough at night.

As he grew up, he occasionally went to do odd jobs to earn some money, bought back Sketchpad and other tools, and began his life as a street painter.

"Young people are very good. They draw very well. Which training class came out?" Asked a passer-by.

"I learned it in my dream." The little painter smiles, very shy.

The number zero appears less and less in dreams.

The skill of a little painter is enough.

But there was always a doubt in his mind.

That night.

When he saw zero again in his dream, he could not help asking.

"Teacher, what is art?"

He felt that his paintings could not be called works of art.

It seems that something is missing.

Number zero smiles and takes out a very small statue from his pocket.

"Pa!"

He broke an arm of the statue.

"This is art."

The little painter suddenly realized.

From small to large scenes flashed in front of my eyes.

Those children with broken arms, those who lost their eyeballs, those who had their legs amputated

Art comes from his life.

"I'll take you to a place where you can play freely."

The little painter came there.

Red and blue blood flow in the wailing, machinery and flesh began to collide.

He was intoxicated with it.

He didn't want to wake up.

But when I wake up.

His heart was filled with pain and suffering.

Those people's wailing and begging for mercy seemed to reverberate in their ears. He turned them into dead monsters with his own hands.

"Fortunately, it was just a dream."

Those dreams are getting longer and longer.

During the day, he began to become spiritless.

Work and rest are reversed.

Gradually, he began to sleep during the day.

In this dream, there are two unexpected guests.

……

Good night, fellow readers!