* note this is an adaptation from the manga "the hybrid child" by Nakamura shungiku and i just adapted the idea and plot! though i changed some stuff*

The Sakura petals danced in the spring's breeze as I sat near the window. The paper door slid open as a young black haired boy walked in stiffly, carrying a tray of tea. He placed it beside me and looked at me with his big blue eyes. He is what I created. I remembered what my childhood friend said when he saw this prototype. Satsuki said that it looked like the child version of Naoki. I look at the child who smiled at me.

One plus one and one. Always together ever since always. I dragged Naoki by the hand and headed towards the pond with Satsuki ahead. I grasped his pale and small cold hands in my own as we headed to fish. Naoki was the child of the village chief. He always hid behind a tree watching the rest of us play. Once, Satsuki noticed him and invited him to join us. Since then, I had been dragging Naoki along as we went to play. As we grew older, Naoki and I always fought over petite things but nonetheless stayed as friends. I began to work as an engineer and Naoki took over his father's position. I always spite him to get his worries off his mind. I wished that those days would continue forever.

However, that fateful day arrived. That morning, the Sakura branch from Naoki's house broke in the storm the previous night. Naoki handed it to me. He said that since I like flowers, he would give it to me. I smiled softly at the Sakura branch that was placed in my hands. That peace did not last long. Two pair of hurried footsteps came running down the corridor as Naoki, Satsuki and I talked. They seemed panicked and brought shocking news. We were going to war and were the many generals that were employed to fight. Before the battle, I exchange my headband with Naoki's with a pathetic excuse. I just wanted a keepsake of his. I headed off to the battlefield, swearing that I will survive this battle and prayed that Naoki and Satsuki will remain safe.

The battle ended badly, with our side losing. I suffered sever wounds and Satsuki a trauma, which robbed him the ability to talk. However, a harsher fate befallen Naoki. He was going to conduct Senpaku, the cutting of one's own stomach, to save the lord's life. I remembered clearly how panicked I felt, how much my chest hurt and how much tears threaten to overflow. I rushed to Naoki's house, wounds reopening. Naoki sat undisturbed by the fact and we got into an argument. Despite so, we cried and we embraced that night. I loved him. The next morning, Naoki was gone.

I began to work harder in my job. I started to create a doll that will live and talk like a human. It will be able to grow according to the master's love. It will be a reflection of the master's heart. My invention succeeded and I received many investments from companies and I created many more dolls. I called it the hybrid child.

I strolled in the garden with the young boy following behind me. The Sakura flowers were in full bloom and the petals danced as they fell. The young boy picked up a fallen Sakura branch and approaches me with his mouth flabbing. It was trying to talk for the first time. With his outstretched hand towards me with the Sakura branch, he said " ...like...flowers.... I’ll give it to you."

My eyes widened as my chest ached with longing. Why? I thought, why must his first words be that phrase? A hybrid child is a reflection of the master's heart. What part of me has he reflected? What was it I gave him? I collapsed to the ground, burying my face in my hands. I burst out in tears in front of the hybrid child. I will never forget that pale, small cold hands which I always grasped in mine. As we ran and ran, Naoki's hand still stayed cold. Thus in my heart, I told myself that I have to hurry and warm him up. Without falling over, without giving up, together. One plus one and one. I am left as one.

My fingers pressed the soft keys one after another as a trail of words appeared on the white screen. Like ants, they crawled across the screen, one line after another, as I worked my way on the keyboard. I sat in my black swivel chair, content about where I was. Though everyday was hard work, at least I have attained it. Finally, I have attained it. For all these years, I craved for it; I desired it and I needed it. It was needed for survival that is what that household taught me. I had the authority and strength. I had the power.

I laid on the cold hard floor as my whole body ached. Pain was everything I felt. Pain was everywhere and there was nothing but pain. I squint across the dark room, trying to find something to shield me from the winter's wind. However, I was too tired to move. At least the wound burns, I thought. I closed my eyes slowly and drifted to sleep.

I was adopted into the Beskerville family at five. My parents died and the master of the Beskerville household was my father's friend. He adopted me and became my father. Father paid me some attention. He bought me new clothes, new books and gave me education. Though it was little, it was enough to earn the jealousy of my "siblings”. They started to pick on me and when I grew older, their mothers' began to hit me. They always brought me to the musty old underground storeroom and beat me there. They paid attention to not hit my face and limbs, as they wanted to look good in front of father.

Everyone was going after father's wealth and money. After living in the Beskerville family for eleven years, I learnt that power was needed to survive in this harsh and cruel world. I wanted power and was going to attain it on my own. I began to work my way into society, learning how it worked. Through the Internet, I met influential people and gained their support. Slowly, I started buying shares and through some manipulation, Father's company began to collapse.

As the company deteriorated, people lost interest in it. Father grew old and forlorn. On his deathbed, he held my hands and entrusted his company to me. What did he mean entrust, I thought. I earned it. Though the company was deteriorating, the cause was small. After fixing the problem, it began to rise again and at an incredible fast speed. Chains opened up all over in the country and the world. It began to prosper and became one of the biggest companies. I sat at the top of that established company. I achieved what I wanted. Finally, I have attained power.

A knock came from the outside and a secretary walked in. she started to recite my schedule for the day. Staring at her legs, I was contented at where I was. I had power. No one could reach me or even touch a single hair of mine. I had power, but now I seek something totally different. That was happiness.

I stood at the edge of the roof of my HDB flat. My legs trembled as I tried to keep my balance. There was an eerie silence with only an occasional hoot of an owl. Peering down, I saw a sea of blackness. The wind blew, rustling my long black hair as I took in a deep breath. My heart thumped furiously as I prepared to jump. For a splint moment, I caught myself wondering why I was doing this. “For freedom,” I whispered to myself. “It’s all for freedom.”

The hand hit across my face with a loud slapping sound. I stumbled backwards and held my hand against my sore left cheek. It throbbed in pain. My mother stood before me, waving my recent Mathematics test paper in front of me. With downcast eyes, I apologized once more. Then the shouting began. My mother was a typical tiger mother, who seeks and only accepted nothing but perfection. For my latest Mathematics test, I lost a mark due to a careless mistake on my part. The reason? During the test, I had accidentally dozed off after a night of burning midnight oil involuntarily. That was the cause for the mistake and my mother’s beatings and yelling was the cost for the mistakes.

I had never had any breathing space or what others called “spare time” for myself. Under the strict guidance of my mother, I had to study from morning to night, having breaks only for my meals. My mother never tolerated any mistake. If one was made, it always ended with a series of scolding and beatings. Each night, I clutched myself in bed, trying to hold myself together. I knew I was on the verge of breaking and I could almost hear my string of tolerance snap. Tears flowed from my eyes, staining my pillowcase.

In school, I was an apple of every teacher’s eye. I excelled in every subject, except physical education, and did everything to utmost perfection. The teachers regarded me as god sent, their ideal student, and the student population regarded me as an eyesore, what they often regarded me as “ a pain in the butt” to be exact. Due to the impression I gave to my schoolmates, I was often picked on. No one liked a perfect schoolmate. I had experience whatever form of bullying that existed in this world. I had my books vandalized, pins placed on my chair, locked and drenched in the toilet cubicle for hours and much more.

I had always dreamt of freedom. Always dreamt of living my schoolmates’ life. Dreamt of being able to make my own decisions for once and having friends whom I could share my pain and joy with. I thought about it every single night and on one particular night, I decided to run away, to break away from the endless torture. It was around three in the morning when I took off. I walked as far as I could and came to a rest at a playground. However, the next morning I was found by the police. That small adventure of mine came with a great consequence. I was given a sound beating and my mother even made me swear to never run away ever again. That day, I saw a fleeting moment of freedom.

Now standing at the edge of the roof, I wondered if gods and goddesses existed, if they did, why did they not help this pitiful soul? Perhaps death would allow me to obtain my freedom. I thought about my funeral. Would my parents cry or scowl at my foolishness? Would any of my schoolmates even turn up? I laughed. Why did it matter now? I thought. Taking a last glance at the starry sky, I stepped forward. I plunged down into the sea of darkness, never resurfacing ever again.

I cringed at the heavy approaching footsteps. Brother and I huddled closer together, shivering in fear. Please not me, I secretly chanted. A huge hand grabbed brother away from me. Brother wailed. The big hand hit him repeatedly. Father was beating brother again. Brother cried for mother but she just sat there at one corner, stitching our worn out clothes. I curled into a ball and shut my eyes tight with my hands covering my ears, trying to black the sounds out and escape from reality.

Father was very kind in the past. However ever since he lost his job and we moved to a smaller apartment, father had been beating my older brother and me frequently. Mother would never stop father, sitting in a corner, doing her own household chores. My body would be covered in bruises. Every time the teacher asked me what happened, I would always say that I got into a fight with brother. But brother was the one who would protect me, comfort me when I was scared and crying.

One day just as I returned home from school, the house was deserted except for father who was lying on the living room floor, drunk. I searched for mother and brother but never found them. As I sat in front of the door waiting for them to return, father pulled my hair from the back, dragging me into the living room. I screamed. “Shut up!” he yelled. “ They left! Ran away! They had abandoned you and will never be coming back!” father then beat me hard. My cries were never heard.

Being a young girl of age eight, I took up the responsibility of the household chores. As days passed, the bruises on my body increased, along with the hatred for my father, but most of all mother and brother who abandoned me to suffer in the clutters of father.

It was a regular evening when I was preparing dinner as a thought ran through my mind. I was holding a knife chopping onions then. I titled the knife and saw my face reflected against the knife’s polished surface. Holding the knife in my hand, I approached my drunken father. With a swift movement without hesitation, I thrust the knife hard into father’s left chest. Father jerked awake and screamed in pain. He looked at me with eyes filled of anger. For once I did not fear him. He was going to die. After a few moments, father stopped moving. I panted. Tears streamed down my face.

I huddled in a corner of my locked room and cried. I cried for brother, mother and even the father, which I just killed. What happened to my once perfect life? I thought. Everything after that was a blur. People barged into the room and sent me to the hospital. After a few days, my grandparents came to fetch me. I never knew what happened to father.