In the blue house in a very distant city, beautiful by definition, near lakes and forests, this little house had a blue wall with a pink tiled roof. All chosen by his mother. The house was divided into the living room, the kitchen, and the playroom. Only the laughter of the children could be heard.
The house had two beautiful little ones with a few years between them. The youngest ran around hugging the clothes of Robicaela, a name that her caregiver, educator, and cook did not have, but to little Mati it seemed unfair that everyone in the house had a name and she was the only one who didn't.
They spent the morning after breakfast concentrating on finding things to distract themselves with. On the advice of that great caregiver, they read books, looked at the garden, and even practiced a bit of manners, even if they were already archaic. The boy liked feeling serious and hoped that when his parents saw how hard he tried, they would applaud him and touch his head, messing up his hair, just like his caregiver did when he turned in his homework properly.
There wasn't much to say, there wasn't much to think. After having fun, it was time to study, and they spent hours between physical activities and fun experiments, because to Mati's good fortune, the somewhat distant school had become the perfect excuse for Robicaela to take care of him throughout the afternoon. After eating, the boy sat to listen and satisfy all the questions that came to his little mind, from the reason for the color of the sky to that afternoon when he asked why Miguel didn't love him anymore.
The blue eyes of a strange glow blinked for a few seconds and asked, curious, why he felt that his older brother didn't love him anymore. He answered, a bit ashamed, that before he used to sit and have fun with him, but ever since the school for young people had started, his brother had kept him so far away that he felt even his parents were closer than him.
The caregiver thought for a few minutes and offered to go and mediate. Clearly, she believed that things could be solved with talks. She arrived at the teenager's room, whom she remembered crying when it rained at night and she would hug and comfort him, giving him warmth, security, and joy.
Upon reaching the door, she heard the screams of someone who didn't seem interested in interacting. He was insulting everyone; it seemed he was communicating with other boys his age. Vulgarities and bad words that she never taught him made her wrist tighten a little before knocking. But she wasn't going for him or to educate him: it was about his brother that they had to talk.
The conversation was not pleasant. Apparently, nothing of what she had taught him did he remember. He laughed at everything, from advice to recommendations, because he believed he was smarter than that piece of metal. He insisted that none of the beautiful things she taught him happened in reality. He insulted her because he arrived at school hopeful, but ended up humiliated every time he showed any civic or moral teaching. That was why he began to become someone much more adult, and according to him, there he discovered the huge lie that this thing, trash, was telling him.
A bit ashamed, she reminded him that people who do not know how to treat others well often do not reach a valuable job and are left only to fertilize or clean.
The eruption of fury from the teenager made her quite sad. She left the room with marks of blows, of trash, of soda, but full of dignity. Her structure was quite strong and was not going to deform from the attacks of a teenager, no matter how much strength or determination he had. She could overpower him, but she wouldn't do it without talking to his parents first, which was the right thing to do; she had it written in big letters in her directives.
She reached the adults' room, and the screams went through the whole place. It seemed like a nasty copy of what a few minutes ago she had gone to face. In this case, it was two adults, husband and wife by legal title, but they were saying horrible, hurtful, and out-of-place things to each other.
Determined to insist, she knocked on the door and went in without waiting. Her blue eyes showed a concern and a desire to be heard. They kicked her out without further thought, refusing to acknowledge the problem of a violent teenager.
"That's what we pay you for!" they told her. "Take care of it, it's your job. If you can't, tell us and we'll talk to the company that claims to have a lifetime warranty. Don't force us to use it."
At night, she sent an alert to the two children she was raising. She notified that she needed updates and to be seated in the charging station. The parents received these notifications and ignored them, as they were recurring. As long as it didn't bother them, what did it matter what was written there?
Another one who was very excited about this unexpected favor was the teenager, son of these two. He knew that he was not allowed to go to parties, but the possibility of escaping was not so easy with someone as effective as the piece of iron he called trash and his brother had affectionately baptized differently. As soon as the lights of those eyes went out and her chest screen showed the update process, the boy ran away, taking money, modern clothes, and a wish in his heart.
At the party, he socialized and celebrated like a wild animal, amused to finally be away from control. He didn't like alcohol or dancing, only shouting without control. He was very happy because there nobody cared if he had knowledge in science or Spanish, and although he wasn't the handsomest, they didn't care about that either. In the darkest hour, stumbling, he was returning to his house; to his misfortune, he never reached the entrance.
The next day, pancakes as healthy as they were delicious awaited Mati on the table. He said thank you, washed his hands, and put on his napkin while devouring everything in ecstasy. His caregiver watched him, and suddenly, out of nowhere, she asked an unusual question:
"Do you want to be a happy adult?"
While in the parents' house, the screams were beginning.