When I was a child, I well remember breaking a porcelain bowl filled with rice on the floor. After sweeping away the pieces of porcelain and rice, my mother came to me with a cane in hand. Trying to escape the punishment, I hid in the bathroom, but my mother managed to force the door open. After a few strokes, she sent me right to bed even though it was only one in the afternoon.
Trying to kill time, I shuffled my feet slowly towards my bedroom. With a reluctant sigh, I laid my sore bottom on the bed and pulled the sheets over. Closing my eyes, I tried to fall asleep but the sounds of cars passing by and the laughter of children playing at the playground kept me awake. The usually colourful room became dull. Finally, I fell into a troubled doze.
When I woke up, the room was pitch black, and all sounds were absent, except for the humming of cicadas. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a black figure entered my bedroom and sat down next to me, not making a sound. Not daring to move an inch, I laid still on my bed in case I catch the attention of the figure. Slowly, I fell asleep again.
When I woke up the next morning, I wondered about the mystery, who sat by me during my most dismal night. To this day, I still haven’t figured out who that person was.