In the eye of a beholder.

Once upon a time, there was a boy named apieceofshit. No middle name. No surname. That’s it — apieceofshit. Everybody called him so and it was difficult to distinguish between those who meant affection and those who meant mockery. He carried on as usual, nevertheless, mainly because life can be cruel to an orphan and when you’re busy fighting to stay alive, what you’re called becomes the least of your concerns. He didn’t know where he came from or who his parents were or what is going to happen to him. All he knew without a strain of doubt was, he had to leave that wretched place as soon as possible. Innocence is associated with children but only by those who don’t know how what an orphanage is. One day, on his way to the soup room, he realized something that changed him forever. With an ancient plate in one hand and a disfigured spoon in another, he looked up at the leaky roof. Something had caught his nascent attention. Or maybe it was the other way around. He saw an eye-like object peeking in through the wooden gap. Wondering whether that eye will ever blink, he kept staring at the monstrous pupil. If it’s an eye, it has to blink sooner or later; hundreds of similar questions were racing through his head.
Several seconds passed by.
apieceofshit appeared like a statue stuck in time. In his pursuit of knowledge, he didn’t care whether his nape hurt by looking up for so long. Curiosity had had the better of him. How worse could it get anyway?
Several more seconds passed by.
“Hey apieceofshit, what’s up?” somebody screamed.
At that very moment, my eye finally blinked. It was a wink but he’ll never know that. It was a wonderful moment for both of us — for apieceofshit and me — as we succeeded in finding a reasonable answer to ‘What’s up?’ after countless failed attempts. And in his latent euphoria, he decided to forgive me for giving him such a horrible name.

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