The Boy With A Black Heart
By: Shruti Doraiswamy
Tags: Friendship, Short Story, Fantasy, Fiction Writing, Fiction

Credits — Zedge.com

Long, long ago, there lived a poor couple in a small village. They were childless, yet did not resent it. As months went by without any good income to sustain them, their poverty aggravated, and the wife’s health deteriorated. The couple wandered around a nearby town, Serene Feet, in search of a better job. Despite their unfavourable conditions, the couples’ heart was akin to a bright, red jewel: pure, shining and beautiful. The heart — pinned to their chests — was a symbol of warmth and love that dwelled in the individual. They trudged, both mentally and physically through their difficulties with a smile on their face.

After an entire day’s search in the scorching heat, deprived of food and water, the couple sat down on a flight of stairs to catch their breath. The sun sank into the mountains, leaving the sky in a hue of dark orange, tinted with shades of red and pink. The vast warm-hued tones were soon replaced by Prussian blue studded with twinkling stars, while the moon fixed itself somewhere in the sky, hidden from view.

Alienated and homeless as they were in this new town, the couple made themselves comfortable on the staircase. They used their sacks as their pillows and lay flat on the stairs and soon enough, they dozed off, weary by the day’s search.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The husband woke up on hearing the constant tapping. He rubbed his eyes, which were swollen red and stared at the blurred image of a man dressed in black, standing right in front of him. He blinked several times until his vision cleared, and recognised the person as a security guard. A bright red heart glistened on his chest.

“Whadya doin’ here? Get up!” he ordered.

The husband shook his wife and woke her up frantically, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Get up, right this instant! How dare y’all lie down here!” he growled.

“P-please! Excuse us! W-we are new to this t-town and are homeless,” the wife cried.

“Excuse you? After you dare sleep here? Do you even know where you are? GET UP RIGHT NOW!” the guard bellowed, his voice echoing through the neighbourhood.

“What is happening here?” asked a voice. It was deep yet calm. The loud click-clack of heels sounded as the owner of the voice walked their way down the stairs. The couple turned around to see a female figure striding towards them with an unimaginable elegance. As she drew closer, her face became more apparent. It was caked with makeup and other unidentifiable beauty products, while her hair was neatly tucked behind into a sleek bun with a claw clip studded with jewels, long neck adorned with an emerald necklace. She wore a satin robe that cinched around her waist, and the same gem-like heart as the security had, stood out on the left side of her chest. ‘She’s filthy rich, huh,’ the wife thought.

“Sharman, why are you making so much fuss in the middle of the night?” she asked calmly.

“This raggedy couple dare to lie on the stairs, Ma’am. They haven’t budged an inch even after being told to move away from here,” he said.

The lady looked at the poor couple and told them to follow her into the house. Shivering out of fright and the cold air of the night, the couple trotted to where she led them.

It was a vast mansion, confirming the wife’s suspicions of her wealth. She flung the large, wooden doors open, and led then into the hallway. The space was majestic, the walls adorned with shades of gold and cream. The furniture was all antique, arranged sophisticatedly. There might have been over a thousand different pieces, yet the remaining space was large enough to accommodate at least three small huts.

“Have a seat,” she said. The pair seated themselves on one of the large, comfortable sofas.

“What’re your names?” the cold voice asked.

“I’m Aran, and she’s Sera.” the male responded.

“You both aren’t from Serene Feet, are you?” she asked. The couple looked down at their feet and nodded slowly.

“May I ask what brings you here, then?” she asked, unfeeling.

“W-we needed money, we need a job,” Aran replied quickly.

“My wife is not her healthiest. We need help because we cannot afford a doctor. An-and her stamina’s just reducing every day. It’s getting serious.”

“I see. Well, I shall fix an appointment with our doctor tomorrow. You two can sleep in the worker’s room.” saying so, she rose from her seat.

“Nina, guide them to their room,” she ordered.

“Oh, and you both-” she turned around to face them.

“I hope you have a driver’s license Aran. And Sera, I presume you are capable of housekeeping?” she asked. The couple nodded their head vigorously.

“Well, then consider yourselves employed at the McKinley’s Mansion,” she said as she glided her way up the spiral stairs with golden handles. They were delighted. It was like they’d just hit the lottery. No matter how cold she sounded, she did have a beautiful heart, just like the red one on her chest.

“She’s pregnant,” the doctor announced.

Aran froze, his eyes wide with astonishment. Sera herself was so flustered; her eyes seemed to be popping out of their sockets. They were happy to have a child, but their current circumstances were not so favourable. Maybe it wasn’t good news, after all.

Sera told Mrs McKinley about her report. “We cannot Madam… we cannot raise the child,” she said, voice breaking as she continued, “We can’t afford to feed them, afford them. W-we’re already indebted to several people.”

“Give it some time and more thought, Sera,” Mrs McKinley assured her.

Months passed by. The couple was blessed — or perhaps cursed — with a baby boy.

“Ma’am, Sir! Please adopt him! We are not in the right financial situation to raise him!” Sera cried her eyes out to the McKinleys.

“We won’t be able to afford his education, his interests… nothing. We don’t want him to struggle like us. Please don’t make him realise even for one second that he’s poor,” With a lot of begging and pleading, the couple convinced Mr and Mrs McKinley to adopt the baby boy, who was named Mark.

It was not soon after Mark was born when the parents were met with their demise, in a hit-and-run with a money-lender whom they owed a large sum of money to. The case wasn’t appropriately investigated; they were poor, unimportant people, after all.

Years passed by. Mark McKinley grew up to be a lonely and cold teenager, with ‘not-the-best manners’ as the servants would jokingly put it; however, the boy had everything in the world, as his parents had wished. The only thing that bothered Mr and Mrs McKinley was that unlike others, the boy had a black heart pinned to the left side of his chest. The McKinleys visited several priests, even witches, trying to figure out the reason behind the black heart.

“Love, precious, as previously said,

Is what leaves your heart blood red,

Without it, it’s just a stingy black,

And nothing but love can fill that lack,”

recited a witch as she toyed with a crystal ball.

For the McKinleys, money was love, and love was money. It was doubtful if they even loved each other. After all, the young couple, Reginald and Gloria were the children of two conglomerates who were married off to each other by their families, an alliance not just between two families but more so between two successful businesses.

Reginald had started his own company when their adopted son, Mark, was three. The boy was deprived of love and warmth since then, his parents being busy with the business. Mark was quite demanding in nature and had never heard the word ‘no’. Gifts flooded his bedroom floor on his birthday during Christmas. His wish was their command.

He was never told that the McKinleys were not his biological parents. He was never introduced to the concept of poverty, nor was he aware of its existence in the real world, just as Aran and Sera had wished.

He attended the most expensive school in the country and was given personal training by the best tutor; the best quality education, just as Aran and Sera wished. Mark secured the first position in extracurriculars like archery as well.

But one thing that the poor couple had forgotten to wish for was for the boy to have a beautiful social life — and evidently, the boy did not understand friendship nor was he familiar with enmity. He never cared about anyone but himself. Many people tried to befriend him until they noticed the black heart that glistened over Mark’s blazer and ran away in fright.

The black-hearted boy never helped anyone, nor did he seek help himself. He was the most brilliant student in his batch but also the most socially inept.

One day, Mark was strolling down the path along the lake of the school. He saw a girl standing near its shoreline, sobbing, visibly frightened. He noticed a snake slithering nearby. As soon as she saw him, her eyes widened, a silent cry for help.

‘What a stupid girl,’ Mark thought and continued walking down the path. He could hear the girl sniffing, trying not to move or bring the snake’s attention to herself. He hesitated but continued walking again until she heard her cry loudly. ‘Should I? Should I not?’ He thought to himself. He walked back and picked a twig from the nearby bush and twirled it around with his long, pale fingers with a smirk on his face.

Just as the girl screamed, he aimed the stick at the snake which was flaunting its fangs in front of her leg. With a thud, the stick fell right in front of the snake, which slithered its way back into the lake.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” the girl breathed heavily.

“…Stupid.” was his response. He turned and started walking down the path again. At that moment, the girl noticed that he had a black heart. She ran towards him and stood ahead of him.

“I’m Carrie!” she said, holding out her hand to him. Mark stared at her for a moment, then side-stepped to get her out of the way.

“Wait!” she called out. “You have a black heart.”

He turned around at that comment.

“Is there a problem?” he asked coldly.

“N-no, I’d… I’d just like to be your friend,” she finally said.

“And what makes you think I want a friend?” he asked his head tilted to one side, narrowing his eyes.

“Well then, I’d like to have you as a friend.”

“I don’t need one.” Mark walked away.

“I do!” she shouted out to him.

Several months passed by like this: her chasing him around and trying to strike a conversation, while Mark, despite his coldness towards her, was always there to protect her. He tried to ignore her just like he did the first time and always spoke to her coldly, yet he did not leave her stranded when she was in danger.

It was a dark, rainy day. Everyone at school was busy rotating their umbrellas as water splashed across, trying to dry them off. The brightness from the sun was obscured by dark clouds. Mark was absent.

‘Maybe he didn’t come because of the heavy rain,’ Carrie wondered. However, several days of his absence passed by which had Carrie worried.

After almost a month of him not attending classes, Carrie drove down to the McKinley Mansion to find out what exactly was wrong.

“May I help you?” the servant who opened the door asked.

“I’m here to see Mark McKinley,” Carrie replied.

“I’m afraid you cannot meet Master McKinley at the moment. He’s unwell,” saying so, she bowed her head and turned to shut the door.

“Wait! What happened?”

“Apologies. I’m not in the position to disclose any further information,” with a faint smile, the servant turned around.

“But I’m his friend!” Carrie shouted frantically. That made the young maid stop in her tracks. She turned around and observed Carrie for a moment.

“I’ve got the school notes for him,” Carrie took out her notes from her school bag.

“The Master… has developed a brain tumour. He is admitted at Wellson Hospital,” she informed.

A mixture of sorrow and bewilderment overtook Carrie. There was so much she wished to know, so many things she wanted to ask. ‘How? When? This must just be another nightmare,’ she thought to herself as her feet remained frozen on the ground.

‘No time! No time! I’ve gotta meet him NOW!’ Carrie dashed across the garden and down the stairways. She sped her way to Wellson Hospital.

“I’m here for Mark McKinley,” she told the lady at the reception.

“And you are?”

“His friend!” she said, desperation evident in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I do not have the permission to let anyone besides family members in,” she said.

“Please!” Carrie begged.

“Is there an issue?” a deep, calm voice asked.

“She wishes to meet the young master, Ma’am,” the receptionist replied to the woman who came and stood right next to Carrie.

“And who are you?” Gloria asked.

“I’m his friend from school, Carrie Harkins. Please allow me to meet him!”

“Let her in,” Mrs McKinley instructed.

Carrie dashed into the room where Mark was hospitalised.

“He does not have much time,” Mr McKinley said, walking out of the ward.

Carrie was in tears. He was such a caring friend, and only as they were getting closer…

The nurse walked in and injected another dosage of medicine which woke him up. He was surprised to see Carrie standing next to his hospital bed.

“I’m sorry,” Carrie mouthed. She held his hands and wept. Mark shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you get through your cold life. I’m sorry that you have to leave so soon,” she cried as she entwined her fingers with his.

“You’re warm. Your fingers feel warm… are you sick?” Mark mumbled, eyes barely open. Carrie stared at him. Mark had never said he’d felt anything warm before today.

“Does it make you feel better?”

“It’s a good warmth. Comfortable,” he responded. As these words made its way through his lips, the black heart that lay flat on his chest, started turning into a shade of red.

“Your heart isn’t black anymore. It’s… it’s bright red!” Carrie yelped.

Puzzled, Mark sat up slightly, looking down to his chest.

“Looks like you did need a friend, Mark,” Carrie said, overwhelmed with emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“So, this is what it feels like when someone truly cares for you…” he whispered, eyes fixed on the red on his chest.

As soon as he said this, he closed his eyes, hand falling limp in Carrie’s grasp.

Just then, a loud beeping echoed through the room, making everyone rush in and gather around the boy’s bed, frantically checking his vitals.

The parents did not shed tears, much to Carrie’s surprise.

‘No warmth and no love made a blackened heart. He certainly lived the life of a red-hearted soul, though; maybe just for a short moment, but it was unforgettable for both him and me.’ These thoughts ran through Carrie’s mind as she walked out of the hospital, her emotions oscillating between grief and satisfaction — for she’d finally managed to scrape off the blackness that coated his heart, and unleashed the red within.