Bionic Era

Times can create a lot of sorrow.

Many years ago, when homeless children appeared on the streets, people would start to reflect that there was a problem in this society.

later.

There are more and more homeless children.

People stop reflecting.

Cruel life took away their time to think.

The little boy sits on the street.

There is a pair of beautiful pale blue eyes on that dirty face, he is of mixed race.

He bowed his head in thought, the speeding car turned into a horse passing by him, the asphalt road turned into soft grass, the street lamps were fireflies in the dark night, and the air smelled sweet of green grass.

"May I have your name?"

"I don't have a name."

"Come with me, I can make you full."

The little boy followed the man.

He got into a car.

There are many four- and five-year-old children in the car.

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

The man didn't lie to them.

They do get a full meal.

But there is one more task.

"Remember to pretend to be pitiful, those people keep pestering them without giving them money..."

The man said something to them.

Then a tattered iron bowl was distributed to each child.

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

Children who did not complete the assigned tasks could only eat leftovers.

The little boy often fails to complete tasks because he doesn't look pitiful enough. His golden hair, fair skin, and thin face give him a different temperament.

There was a little girl with white hair who would hide a little supper from him.

"Why is your hair white?"

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

The two are good friends.

If the time is still the same, this kind of life is actually not too bitter.

At least, not starving to death.

But after a few years, that person called all the children over.

"Now that you have grown up a bit, you can no longer arouse the sympathy of others. If this continues, everyone will not be able to eat..."

That night, the oldest child was called away.

When he returned the next day, he was pale and one arm was gone.

Later, some children were called away one after another.

Some came back with their lower legs missing, some had their eyes gouged out, some had their ears cut off, and some had a lot of scratches on their faces.

Also, never came back...

Arranged according to age, the next person should be the little girl with white hair.

"Why hasn't she come back yet?"

The sun was setting.

The man looked impatient.

Until night fell, the little girl with white hair did not come back.

that night.

The little boy knocked on the door of the man's room and said that he had a way to make money.

The man called him in.

"What can you do?"

"Uncle, come closer, this method cannot be heard by others."

The man moved a little closer.

Then a sharp iron bar pierced his heart.

Hot blood spurted on the little boy's face, and he was smiling.

The man clutched his chest and staggered back.

He couldn't believe it.

Where does a child get so much strength?

He is destined to never get an answer to this question.

The fallen body hit the ground, and the blood flowed on the ground, which had a strange beauty.

The little boy thought for a while, but couldn't think of words to describe this beauty.

Maybe it's art.

He pushed open the door.

The white moonlight shone on the blood on his face.

The strong smell of blood made the children look terrified, and they all avoided it.

He started wandering again.

I also looked for the little girl with white hair, but found nothing.

The life of full and hungry made the little boy look even thinner.

One day, he picked up a box of watercolor pens on the side of the street.

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

"White hair..."

On the quiet street, under the street lights at night.

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

After painting, I added a pair of wings.

Then he tried red.

Bright, like flowing blood.

He painted his own image in red.

red and white.

This is his first painting.

The crooked lines have an indescribable strangeness, not awkward, but somewhat abstract.

"Drawing for the first time? It's very good and talented."

Very magnetic sound.

The little boy looked up.

The man was dressed in a black robe, with a black hood covering his face, making it difficult to see clearly.

"Want to learn to draw?"

"think."

The little boy nodded solemnly.

"Let me teach you."

The man smiled, and the magnetic voice sounded very comfortable.

"Are you a great painter?"

"That's right."

"Then I'll call you teacher."

"Can."

"Teacher, do you have a name?"

"Zero."

the next morning.

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

He had a long dream.

He dreamed that he picked up a box of watercolor pens, and in the dream there was a teacher named Zero teaching him to paint.

But when I woke up, there was no watercolor pen by my side.

No drawing from last night.

Nothing at all.

The little boy felt lost.

He broke off a branch, dipped a little water in the street, tried to draw something from his dream, and succeeded!

after that.

Zero always appears in his dreams, teaching him various painting knowledge.

Although it was a dream, the little boy always felt that he was getting sleepier and less energetic during the day.

As if not getting enough sleep at night.

He grew up gradually, occasionally doing odd jobs to earn some money, bought drawing boards and other tools, and started a life as a street painter.

"The young man is amazing. His paintings are pretty good. Which training class did he come from?" A passer-by asked.

"I learned it in a dream." The little painter smiled shyly.

Number zero appeared in dreams less and less frequently.

The painting skills of the little painter are enough.

But there was always a doubt in his heart.

this evening.

When he saw Number Zero again in his dream, he finally couldn't help asking.

"Teacher, what is art?"

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

As if something was missing.

Zero smiled and took out a small statue from his pocket.

"Snapped!"

He broke off one of the statue's arms.

"That's art."

The little painter suddenly realized.

Scenes from childhood to adulthood flashed before my eyes.

Those children with broken arms, those who lost their eyeballs, those whose lower legs were 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 flowed in wailing, and machinery and flesh and blood began to collide.

He was intoxicated by it.

He doesn't want to wake up.

But after waking up.

His heart was filled with pain and suffering again.

The wailing and begging for mercy of those people seemed to echo in his ears, and he personally turned them into dead monsters one by one.

"Fortunately it was just a dream."

Those dreams are getting longer and longer.

During the day, he began to lose energy.

Work and rest upside down.

Gradually, he began to sleep during the day.

In this dream, there were two uninvited guests.

...

Good night, fellow readers!

The fourth update added for Qiaomei;

Thank you book friends for your reward in the distant sky.