Letting Go

The Death of Special

Being six, you notice everything. Every little detail pops out at you and you automatically notice it, wanting to focus on it for the rest of your life – or at least until something more interesting comes along. When you find something that catches your eye and you’re pulled away, the memory nags at you the rest of your life.

For me, it was the boy down the street.

Two years younger than me and scrawny as a stray cat, he stood out. Sickly looking children were, in no way, uncommon. It’s the slums and no one looks that great – Ever. This boy, however, was the worst of the worst and, at the same time, the strangest thing and most wondrous being in existence.

Bullied constantly, you could most likely tell he was around by his crying. Those little sobs and hiccups grabbed your attention better than any blow horn. I always went out to see what was happening when I heard him. Each time it was the same.

The older boys, at least twelve, were bullying him. They pushed him down and laughed at how easily he cried. He was four. Of course he cried easily! But, as I said, in the slums, you don’t get the best treatment. They called him names because of his small size and laughed when he tried to defend himself.

I know it sounds strange, but how small he was really was unusual! Being four, you’re expected to be tiny, but this boy was almost as small as a two-year-old. Malnourished and the youngest of three children, he didn’t get as much food as he needed.

Wait! Scratch that. He was now the youngest of two – his older sister was just died recently from an ailment no one could figure out how to cure. I can’t believe I forgot to mention her death. After his sister’s death, he was now prone to more outbreaks of severe crying fits.

Back to my story, though. Sorry, I got off-track.

I watched him getting bullied (being six at the time, myself, I couldn’t do much), and immediately predicted what would happen next. I was right.

Almost instantly after the boy started crying, his older brother, Rai, came rushing over. He was a very loving brother. I think he was sixteen at the time. A long time between children, right? Right. Well, his mother and father had had children young. In fact, Rai’s late sister was thirteen. Rumor has it, the youngest hadn’t even been expected – or wanted – at all! Sad, but true. The good news is that after the boy’s birth, his father was overjoyed and his mother immediately changed her mind about having a third child – she loved her new baby boy.

Why do I keep getting sidetracked? Anyway!

Rai, as usual, came to his little brother’s rescue. He scooped up his little brother and hugged him tight, glaring at the boys in front of him. The boys, now being used to Rai, had already backed away the second they saw him. To this day, I still have no idea why they continued to torment that poor four-year-old even when they knew his older brother was ready to beat them to a pulp if they so much as touched him.

Rai, in his heroic fashion, quickly verbally assaulted the offending boys.

“You idiots! What do you think you’re doing?”

“N-Nothing Rai,” one of those wretched bullies murmured.

“B--.”

At times like these, Rai had trouble picking out the right words. Before I didn’t know why he would start out with ‘B--.’ and then stop. I know now, though, that he wanted to scream ‘Bullshit!’ at those punks, but refused to swear in front of his brother.

“That’s ridiculous! I’ve told you before do not touch my brother! How many more times do I have to say it?”

“None!” the boys cried, frightened, and rushed off.

Glaring after them, Rai set his brother on the ground.

“Hey, now. Stop crying. You’re fine, okay?”

His brother, who was still sniffing pathetically, nodded. “But… Why do they pick on me like that, Rai?”

“Because they’re jealous, of course!”

“Of what?”

“Of you, of course! Who else? They just wish they were as special as you.”

“Really? I’m special?”

“Yes, you’re very special,” Rai sighed, hugging him tight. “The most special little brother on earth. Especially with eyes like yours!”

The boy smiled, hugging Rai back as he was carried home. That was the end of ‘Special’ being teased… for that day. Everyday was the same routine and everyday, Rai told his little brother that he was special.

The part about his eyes was true, though. They were very special. His left eye was a stunning green, while his right eye was brown – like everyone else’s. His eyes caught everyone’s attention. But, more than that, his eyes shined. They sparkled so brilliantly in the light, you wouldn’t believe that they were really such a ratty boy’s eyes.

You know, its sort of sad, but I didn’t even know his name. He was always just ‘Rai’s little brother’, or ‘The Runt’. But now, to me, he was ‘Special’.

For months, things had moved on as usual. Parents left to work early and struggled to bring in a steady income, too tired to even scold their unruly children when they came home. The kids, left at home to fend for themselves, spent their time outside, running off their hunger. Then, one day, the balance was disrupted.

Rai and Special’s father died. No one knows how, but he did. His wife had left to go to the market, leaving Rai in charge of Special, and when Rai and his brother came inside, they found their father’s dead body. No one knew what happened. The kids had decided to go to the riverbank that day. Because most of the children were young, the other kids herded them around like sheep in a makeshift daycare. No one was even in the neighborhood when Rai’s father was killed.

Yes, killed. There was a knife in his chest.

Rai had found the body when he went inside to grab something to drink. For once, the respectable older brother lost his cool. His screams could be heard for blocks. The few adults that worked around the neighborhood rushed to his aid. That day was so horrible. All I really remember was the screaming. Rai had been taken outside and he had clung to his little brother until his mother came home.

Her screams were the most memorable. They echoed through the alleys and everyone stared as she screamed at the top of her lungs and fell to her knees, tearing at her hair. I remember my mother pulling me away from the scene and holding me close, refusing to let me see the body. Everyone was crying. Rai’s father was a kind man and a friend to mostly everyone. Why would someone kill him?

Because of what he was.

Because there would be no consequences.

He, just like everyone else I’ve ever known my entire life, is a mongrel – worthless slum rats “infesting” the streets.

Sad, but true, huh?

After the man’s death, things really changed. Rai, after realizing his family was in desperate need of money, left to make a living. Because of that, he left his little brother and now mentally unstable mother alone. For a while, Special’s mother was okay. Yes, she was heartbroken, but she seemed to be able to go on in life. Special would go out to play in the morning like usual and she went back to her old household tasks.

Special turned five and things went sour. With only one child to feed, Special was growing more because of the extra food. He was now the regular height of a five-year-old and his features were filling out. His sunken cheeks grew large and every adult noticed, taking time to stop and pinch his cheeks while calling him adorable.

Special seemed to find this absolutely horrible.

With Special’s new look, everyone also noticed that he now looked remarkably like his late father. That, I think, is what drove his mother overboard.

His mother now left him outside all day, locking the door behind him. He would be locked out all day, with no food or drink. The neighborhood took it upon themselves to care for him. A schedule was made and Special was assigned to a different house each day for lunch. This system worked rather well until his mother suddenly refused to let him inside even after it got dark.

At first, no one noticed this. Special was never one to complain. He simply sat outside his front door until he heard the lock click. On average, he was let back inside at about eleven each night. One day, someone came home from work very late. He noticed Special and asked him what was wrong. It was then everyone found out that Special had been sleeping outside lately. His mother, now refusing to open the door at all for him, had barred her own son from the house.

The lunch schedule now included a place for Special to sleep.

Special ended sleeping at my house a few times. I suppose that I should be able to give you his name now that I had spoken to him a few times at lunch and bedtime, but Special seems to be the best thing to describe him. He was special with his older brother and now special because of his odd living arrangements.

One morning, Special’s mother pounded on every door in the neighborhood while looking for her son. Special was at the house next to mine at the time and I had been eager for his visit to my house the next day, but when I saw Special’s mother grab him, I knew I would lose my turn. She held her son against her tightly while scolding him gently for ‘disappearing like that’. Everyone who had come outside to see what was going on was confused. Disappearing? She had locked him outside! She hadn’t even acknowledged her son for almost three weeks! What had happened?

Special’s mother brought him home and people decided to keep a close eye on her from then on. Amazingly, for a month, things were fine. Special was treated very well by his mother and she was often seen standing on the front porch, laughing as she watched her son play with the other children.

Then, the news that Rai was gone came. According to the letter, Rai had been working at a construction site and had died from an accident. Special’s mother broke down again, but this time she kept Special at her side. She desperately doted over him, sometimes going so far as to forcing him to stay inside and sit with her all day.

The neighbors, knowing she was going through a lot, thought leaving her alone for a bit of mourning with her son was best. But… Special was no longer seen at all. Eventually, people began checking on her daily to make sure Special was still alive. Each time was the same: “He’s just sitting there. She wouldn’t even let him get up to say hello. He’s just sitting there at the kitchen table.”

People worried more and more.

It was my father who went to check on Special’s mother that night. No one would answer the door, though. Frightened, he called a neighbor and they broke down the door, rushing into the house to see what was going on. They found both Special and his mother in the upstairs bathroom; Special, naked and submerged under the water; his mother, frantic as she gripped her son’s throat and held him under.

My father and the neighbor pulled her off of him and my father held her back as the neighbor wrapped Special in a towel and ran him to the clinic down the street. Thankfully, Special woke up and the neighbor took him home. For weeks, Special stayed with him while my father paced our house, muttering. “That woman isn’t fit to care for her son anymore!”

Special’s mother suddenly appeared again. She looked exactly as she had before her husband’s death. Her black hair was combed and tied up neatly, a neat summer dress gracing her form. When Special saw her, he rushed into her arms and they both cried as they held each other. Without another word other than Special’s mother thanking the neighbor for caring for her son, she carried Special away. The next day, people watched from their windows as Special and his mother set out for a walk. No one thought to follow them.

That…was the biggest mistake.

Two days later, late at night, Special’s mother appeared again. Special was nowhere to be seen.

The next day, someone went to check on her and found her dead in the kitchen. There was a large gash across her throat and a small, blood-splattered note at her side, along with the large knife she had used to kill herself.

On the note read this:

I did it.

I finally killed him.

It’s his punishment for leaving me.

How could he leave me and then come back as my child?

I did it.

I finally killed him.

Her body was taken and set out at sea, unlike her husband, who had been buried at the riverbank. She had killed her youngest child. Not even her late husband would forgive her for that.

Months had passed since the final death of Special’s family. The house had been boarded up and everyone had forced themselves to go back to their normal lives. By now, I was eight and ran with my friends into the city occasionally. On a day I was sick, my friends went without me and came back with surprising news.

They had found Special.

“You’re lying,” I accused

“Its true!”

“The crazy lady killed him.”

“No she didn’t! He’s at the orphanage.”

Only one other boy had stayed the day I was sick. Like me, he was skeptical. Not believing our friends, we followed them to where they said Special would be.

We ended up at a rundown orphanage in the downtown part of the city. Children of all ages ran around the front yard, behind the large iron gates that separated them from the outside. There, on the large steps leading to the front door, was Special.

But…he no longer looked special. Now, he was just Asato. Plain, ordinary, abused, poor Asato. His eyes, once the object of everyone’s attention, were now blank and hollow. It looked as if the life had been sucked out of him.

“Are you sure that’s him?”

“Yeah. He was closer to the gate earlier and when we called his name, he turned towards us. Besides, his eyes are different colors.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t believe that’s him!”

“I though the crazy lady had killed him!”

“Yup,” my closest friend, Chiyaku, whispered. “He’s dead.”