The Little Boy and The Red Scarf
“When did I have this on me?!” The little boy panicked; he scanned his surroundings to look for a lead but found none. He held the worn-out red scarf in his hands and tried to recall where he got it, but nothing popped out of his head. He stood up and walked around the town hoping to meet the owner before night break.
He saw a guy in a black hat sitting on a bench whilst reading a newspaper. “Hey mister, are you looking for a red scarf? “The little boy asked as he takes the seat beside the man.
“Where did you find it?” The guy took a glance at the scarf, “I found it wrapped around my neck” He answered truthfully
The guy chuckled before replying “Stealing is bad, my boy.”
“I didn’t steal it! I didn’t know how it got here.” He explained, although the guy could already sense that the boy would never lie and steal, he was just teasing the determined boy. “Try asking that lady over there, maybe she has any idea where you stole it from,” he teased him once more. The boy scoffed and went to the lady he had pointed at.
“Miss! Is this yours?” he asked showing the lady who seeed to be selling beautiful flowers.
“Scarf? it’s sizzling out here I feel like I’m getting cooked alive!” the lady said as she fans herself with a piece of cardboard, “Who would wear a scarf in this season?” She added.
“Maybe it’s that special for the owner? Winter, spring, or even summer they would wear it every day.” A smile grew on the boy’s face while staring at the scarf in his hands. “So I wanted to bring it back as soon as possible!”
The lady took the scarf from the boy and examined it. “Just throw it out, it’s all worn out and the color is already fading, the owner probably forgot about it already,” She observed
“No! It’s all worn out because the owner wore it every day! it shows how important this is for them!” the boy hissed, “What if it’s a special gift from their parents?” the boy went on, feeling a bit sad after imagining the owner getting upset after finding out that their scarf was missing. Of course, the lady knows how special that red scarf is, she just wanted to tease the determined boy. “Forget about it, I won’t give up looking for them. Thank you for the suggestion though, Miss.” The boy waved goodbye.
He went to a group of guys chit-chatting and asked the same question. “Misters, do you guys know whose scarf is this?” He showed them. The group went silent for a second. One guy kneeled to reach his height and asked, “Little Boy, do you know where your parents are?”
“Yes, they’re at home!” He beamed in excitement, thinking of meeting his parents after he found the owner.
“How about your little sister?” he asked again
“Yes, she’s at home, probably playing with my toys again,” he replied, letting out a small chuckle.
“Okay then, that’s all I need to know, thank you for telling me,” the man said with a sweet comforting smile. “Try asking those people, they might know something,” he pointed at a family restaurant. The boy then waved goodbye. “Okay then! Have a great day, mister!”
“Sir, why didn’t you tell him the truth?” asked the tourist beside the man, while drinking a cup of barley. The villagers told him the story, about how the little boy’s parents were shot dead by an unknown group who is now in prison. Although, the story that was told to him isn’t the whole thing and was only fragments of the tragedy.
“I did, about 2 times already,” the man uttered as he felt the guilt filling him as if he had done something horrible; his head ached as he recalled the vision of the little boy shouting in agony. Back then, he expected to see the boy bawling; but, to his surprise, not a single tear left his eyes. His eyes were wide open as if they were gonna pop out and his voice was so loud that the whole village could hear him, yet not one single person left their house to see because they can’t handle seeing the kid who was once a joyful boy who walked around the village just to say ‘Good Morning’ is now on the ground, his hands holding tight to the bottom of the man’s shirt, wishing they would’ve shot him dead as well.
“The poor boy was traumatized.”
“I don’t understand,” the tourist asked, a bunch of information running around his head, unable to see the whole picture, like a puzzle with missing pieces.
“He has amnesia,” the man answered. The tourist looked at the joyful boy tiptoeing around the village asking for the owner; he felt his heart aching for the poor boy. Then, his eyes landed on the scarf he was holding. “But, who owns the red scarf?”
“White... the scarf was white,” the man said. “It was used to wipe off... some of the blood.” He hesitated.
“I swear I tried to wash it off, but the color won’t go back.”
“I can’t buy him a new one because it was the only thing his family could afford for his birthday”
The little boy spent hours looking for the owner. As he was about to go home, a sweet lady went up to him and told him a lie in which she said his ‘parents’ told him to stay in their home for the time being. Then, she would help the boy look for the owner the next day. All of that to prevent the boy from knowing the truth for the third time.
The Next day, the little boy walked around the peaceful village without a destination in mind. Out of nowhere, he felt as if the wind was calling him from behind. He looked to see a red scarf on the ground. Staring blankly at the lonely scarf, a single tear dropped from his left eye without his knowledge and a feeling welled up inside him that he didn’t seem to understand.
“What a beautiful scarf,” he uttered, “If only it was white.”
