Chapter 6 – The broken smile

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when you’re sad, smile. When you’re afraid, smile. When you think of giving up keep smiling… smile, that’s all I could do

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The soft tranquility of the open field and the gentle rustling of the leaves began to fade. Like sand slipping through fingers, the peace of my refuge ebbed away, replaced by a darker, colder feeling an old ache that pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat. The field shimmered, then warped, bending into a twisted reflection of itself until everything dissolved.

The air thickened, the peaceful landscape shifting again, transforming into the cramped, dimly lit schoolyard. Memories bled into each other, carrying me back to a moment I’d tried so hard to forget. I was smaller here, maybe six or seven, my clothes too big, my hair a mess. The world around me towered over me, shadows of faces blurred but voices sharp as glass.

Baloria and I stood on the edge, watching as my younger self stood alone by the fence, clutching a worn notebook to his chest, his face pulled into a too bright smile as a group of kids closed in.

“Look at that, the loser’s wearing his dad’s clothes again!” one boy sneered, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

My younger self laughed weakly, a brittle sound, as he glanced down at his oversized shirt, stained and faded from years of wear. He looked up, that shaky smile still glued to his face. “Maybe… maybe I’ll grow into it,” he mumbled, though his voice trembled.

Baloria’s gaze flicked to me, her crimson eyes narrowing. “Why did you let them talk to you like that? Why didn’t you fight back?”

“I…” My throat tightened, the words caught somewhere between shame and anger. “I thought… if I just pretended it didn’t bother me, they’d stop.”

But they didn’t stop. Another boy grabbed my younger self’s notebook and tossed it to the ground, stomping on it with a cruel grin. The boy laughed as the pages crumpled under his foot, their jagged edges sticking out, a chaotic mess of ink and scribbles.

“Oh, does the little crybaby need his book? Gonna run and tell Mommy?” another kid taunted.

“No,” I whispered, the word falling from my lips as if it belonged to that broken child. My younger self bent to pick up the notebook, hands shaking, his face still painted with that painful, desperate smile. “I’m fine. I don’t… I don’t need it.”

Baloria’s gaze stayed fixed on my younger self, her expression unreadable. “Is this all you could do? Stand there and take it? Smile while they tore you apart?”

“Yes,” I whispered, feeling the weight of those memories pressing down. “I thought… if I showed them it didn’t hurt, maybe they’d see me as strong.”

But even now, watching this scene from the outside, I could see it for what it truly was. They hadn’t seen me as strong. They’d seen me as something small, something they could hurt without consequence.

One of the boys reached out and shoved my younger self hard. He stumbled back, but the smile stayed on his face, wavering but stubborn, as if he could trick himself into believing that none of it mattered. I watched him grit his teeth, holding back tears, forcing himself to swallow the hurt as laughter echoed around him.

“What are you smiling at, freak?” one of the kids spat, his voice venomous. “You think you’re better than us?”

Baloria chuckled, a cold, mocking sound. “And here you are, clinging to this version of yourself like it’s something worth saving. Look at him, smiling as they crush him under their feet. Tell me, little one, is that what you call strength?”

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. “I was just… trying to survive. It was all I had.”

Baloria’s eyes narrowed. “Surviving?” She gestured toward my younger self, who had bent to pick up his crumpled notebook again. “That’s not surviving. That’s cowering. Pathetic.”

“You don’t understand!” I shouted, my voice thick with anger and something darker, something closer to despair. “I didn’t have a choice. If I showed them I was hurting, they would’ve… they would’ve only hurt me more.”

“And did that smile stop them?” she pressed, her gaze as piercing as a blade. “Did it protect you?”

I looked away, feeling the weight of my own silence. “No,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. “But it was all I knew how to do.”

The scene shifted, plunging us into the dim classroom. My younger self was sitting alone at the back of the room, his head down, scribbling in his notebook. I could feel the anticipation building in him, the small flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d get through the day without being noticed.

But the quiet was shattered as a group of kids sauntered over, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent. One of them yanked the notebook from my younger self’s hands, holding it out of reach.

“Hey, what are you writing, huh?” he jeered, flipping through the pages and laughing as he read my shaky scrawls, mocking every word. “Oh, look at this! The loser thinks he’s smart!”

My younger self tried to smile, but I could see the cracks in it, the way his lips trembled. “I… I was just drawing,” he stammered, reaching out, desperate to get his book back.

The kid smirked, tearing a page out with a swift, cruel motion. “Who cares? It’s garbage anyway.”

That smile, forced, brittle, a thin mask stayed in place even as each page was ripped from the notebook and scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. I could see the agony in his eyes, the way he fought to hold back tears, to pretend it didn’t matter, even as the words and pictures he’d poured himself into were torn apart.

Baloria’s voice was a low murmur beside me. “You would have done anything to be seen, wouldn’t you? To be loved?”

I swallowed hard, the truth too raw to deny. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Even if it meant… pretending. Even if it meant hiding everything I felt.”

In an instant, the scenery shifted again and I was back at the orphanage.

It was a small, dreary building, shadowed by the towering apartment complexes nearby. Cold and worn down, the walls carried the weight of too many broken lives. I could still feel the stifling air, the cracked tiles underfoot, and the faint smell of bleach mixed with something sour that never quite went away.

I heard Baloria’s voice, soft and curious. “Where are we now?”

“My orphanage,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “After my parents… died, this was where they put me.”

I felt her presence beside me, quiet for once. Perhaps even she could sense the heaviness of this place, the way its walls seemed to watch, waiting for the chance to close in on me again. I swallowed hard, a bitter taste filling my mouth as the memories surfaced.

“They said it was a fresh start,” I murmured, the words thick with bitterness. “But it was just… another prison.”

Baloria moved closer, her crimson eyes tracing the lines of my face. “So you traded one cage for another,” she observed, her voice almost gentle. “Tell me, little one, what happened here?”

I took a shaky breath, looking around as old faces and whispers echoed through my mind. “They blamed me, the other kids. Said I was cursed. I was… the boy whose parents died in a car crash. The one who was left behind. They looked at me like I was tainted.”

Baloria tilted her head, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something almost akin to pity. “And did you believe them?”

A memory hit me then, sharp and sudden, a group of boys, older than me, with eyes cold as stone, shoving me against the orphanage wall, their words as cruel as their fists. “You don’t belong here, freak,” they’d sneered.

I shook my head, willing the memory away, but it clung to me, clawing at my heart. “Maybe… maybe, in a way, I did,” I admitted, the words tearing out of me. “I thought… maybe I was meant to be alone. That no one could ever… love me. Not really.”

She watched me for a long moment, the usual sharpness in her gaze softening. “You humans…” she began, but then she hesitated, her voice quieter than before. “You seek love like it’s the only thing that gives you value. Such a fragile desire.”

“Maybe it is,” I said, feeling the weight of years press down on me. “But it’s all I had. And no matter how many times they pushed me down, I kept… smiling. Hoping that someday, someone might actually see me.”

The memory shifted again, showing where my younger self sat on the cold, hard bed, the faint sound of laughter and chatter from the other kids echoing from the hall. He was alone, hugging a tattered stuffed animal close to his chest, his face hidden as he fought to keep his composure.

Baloria watched in silence, her gaze thoughtful. “All of that, just to hold onto the hope that someone would finally care,” she said softly, almost as if she pitied him. “You humans are so fragile, so quick to break.”

I looked at her, my eyes blazing with defiance. “You call it fragility. I call it strength. I kept going. I kept that smile, even when everything hurt.”

“And look where it got you,” she murmured, stepping closer, her hand reaching out as if to touch the young boy’s face. “Alone. Weak. Trying so desperately to pretend you weren’t suffering.”

My voice was barely more than a whisper, filled with all the years of buried pain. “I know… I was never as strong as I wanted to be. But if I had stopped smiling… I think I might have… broken.”

Baloria’s expression softened, though her words remained cutting. “That smile, little one, was nothing but a mask. A lie you told yourself.”

“Yes,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But it was a lie that kept me alive.”

She looked at me then, her gaze steady, intense. “And now? Will you keep hiding behind that mask? Or will you finally let go of this broken past?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of her question, of everything I’d held onto for so long. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I can.”

She took a step back, her expression shifting to something almost… sad. “Then you’ll remain just as you were, forever haunted by what you lost, clinging to a broken smile.”

The words struck deep, like a blade cutting into an old wound. Because part of me knew she was right. I had held onto that mask for so long, afraid to let go, afraid of what might happen if I finally allowed myself to be… vulnerable. But standing here, watching my younger self endure each taunt, each shove, each mocking laugh, I realized something I hadn’t before.

Maybe… maybe it was time to let that pain go. To stop hiding.

And yet, as I looked at Baloria, I could feel the weight of that decision, the fear of losing myself in the process. “Maybe,” I said softly, “but I’m not ready. Not yet.”

She sighed, her gaze lingering on my younger self before she turned away, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Then perhaps, little one, you are more fragile than I thought.”

I looked at her, defiance sparking in my chest. “Maybe I am. But that doesn’t mean I’ll give up who I am.”

Baloria’s expression shifted, her usual mocking smile replaced by something softer, almost thoughtful. “Very well,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “But remember… even the strongest mask will shatter one day.”