Unable to Cry

Little Tom tilted his head, not understanding why he felt this way. He felt a bit uncomfortable, his small face scrunched up as he silently took a few steps back. The woman before him seemed provoked by this action, letting out a despairing scream and startling little Tom awake from his dream.

Seeing the familiar surroundings, Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He threw off the covers and was about to get dressed when he turned to look at the old woman sitting beside him. "Headmaster! How did you fall asleep sitting up?" He nimbly climbed out of bed, slipped on his shoes, and ran to the chair. Tom reached out and gently shook the old Headmaster's hand.

It was no longer a warm touch, but a stiff, cold one. For the first time, Tom felt fear. He couldn't help but increase the force of his grip, raising his voice into a near scream, "Headmaster! Please wake up!"

His cries quickly attracted the early risers. Mrs. Cole, with an annoyed expression, kicked open the door. Upon seeing the old Headmaster with his eyes closed, the wrinkles on her brow could have pinched a fly. She rushed over, placed her hand under the old Headmaster's nose, and was shocked to find that the Headmaster had stopped breathing.

"God! The old Headmaster is dead! Damn it! Get out of the way."

Tom was roughly shoved to the ground. His head buzzed, and the surrounding clamor seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving only the word 'death'. What did that mean? Like his mother, he would never open his eyes to look at him again?

Why do people die? Last night, he and the Headmaster had said goodnight to each other. Why, after a night's sleep, had everything changed? Would no one ever again stroke his hair and tell him stories with a smile? Would no one ever hold him again, and he would never feel that warmth again? No one would say goodnight to him anymore, and no goodnight kiss would fall on his forehead.

Curled up on the ground, Tom's inner panic turned into deep fear. He clutched his head, praying continuously. If God truly existed, please open your eyes and look here. Please, let the Headmaster wake up again...

Not knowing how long he had been alone, Tom got up and walked out of the room. He looked at the people around him sobbing. He didn't understand why he couldn't cry. Wasn't he the old Headmaster's favorite child? He could clearly feel as if a large hole had been torn in his chest.

But why couldn't he cry?

"You weirdo! The Headmaster was so good to you, and you don't even have tears!" A slightly older boy pushed Tom to the ground. Everyone was sad, but this favored child of the Headmaster showed no reaction! This was too abnormal!

"Billy, don't bother him!"

Tom looked down at his palm, which had a small scratch. Dust and tiny fragments of gravel were embedded in the wound. These should have hurt, but why couldn't he feel it? It was as if... he too had died. Perhaps he really was abnormal.

Without retorting, Tom, like a lost doll, stumbled to the rocking chair where the old Headmaster often sunbathed. "Headmaster... will everyone I care about leave me? I've heard Mrs. Cole complain that I'm a strange fellow..."

"Am I a child forsaken by God, born unable to cry..."

'Hiss~ Humans are truly strange~'

A sudden hissing sound startled Tom. He spun his head, searching for the source of the sound. That chilling voice definitely didn't belong to anyone he knew. Who would come to an orphanage for no reason and eavesdrop on him?