Before he discovered his mother's betrayal of their family, he still had some respect for her, and when she was in a good mood, she would always hold him in her arms. Those gentle and fair hands would hold his small hand as she sat smiling at the canvas, using monotonous colors to express the colorful world.
Occasionally, he still remembered the words she spoke to him with great emphasis in his ear. It echoed repeatedly in his mind like an old record player. She said, "Kelvin, you must remember that painting is the most enjoyable and absorbing thing in this world. If you don't have the patience to sit on this stool all day long, then don't bother learning."
She was confident about her favorite field.
"I understand, Mommy."
Despite being young, Kelvin was already more mature and composed than other children of his age because of how often his mother made him sit at the canvas with a paintbrush all day long.
She had become extremely obsessed with painting.
Once for a dark piece called "HELL," she needed several corpses as props. Kelvin would never forget that afternoon when it snowed heavily during winter season while waiting for her outside school gates.
Normally he would be driven by a chauffeur but lately due to poor health condition of his mother who wanted some peace so she fired all household staff except a servant who cooked food for them both; before leaving for school that morning, she gave him 100, telling him to take taxi himself and that she was so mesmerized by Van Gogh's Starry Night last night that she didn't go to bed until four in the morning and that she was so sleepy.
Kelvin was only seven years old but already far surpassed other children of same age group intellectually and had an unusually calm personality. He silently dressed himself up after taking sandwiches prepared by the servant and took taxi alone to school.
His mother told him she would come pick him up after school ended.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon when classes were over.
He watched as snow fell heavier from sky while lining up with other kids whose parents came early.
The teacher smiled goodbye at those students' parents before turning back towards Kelvin with eyes full of sympathy; tenderly squatting down beside him.
She helped him straighten his scarf. He had forgotten to wear his jacket when he left this morning and had gone out wearing only a thin sweater with a black scarf.
No one expected it to suddenly snow.
He was very cold.
He stood shivering in the snow with his small body, looking at the layer of snow on the road beyond that iron gate.
Passing cars made a slight sound of "clatter" when their wheels rolled over the snow-covered ground. They splashed up some slush that stained the surrounding white snow yellow like dirt...
"What should we do? Your mother still hasn't come; it's already five o'clock now. The school closes at half-past five at the latest. Should I call your parents for you?"
The little boy remained silent and shook his head stubbornly in response, "No need; she said she would come pick me up. It's just not time yet, teacher; I'll wait."
"Then let me keep you company while we wait," said the teacher kindly.
"Thank you."
Time passed by second by second. What seemed like half an hour felt like centuries for this little boy who stared intently at passing cars counting them silently.
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