Rouen, 18th April, 1837

It was Mother's Birthday.

The sun was brightly shining, and he could hear the birds chirping on the branch near the roof. He was sitting on the edge of the bed that was considered as his, playfully tapping the headboard with his long skeletal fingers. He did not have an own room, as Mother never declared that room was for him, but he was always sent or locked in that room if Mother did not want to see him anymore during the day, so it was the closest to an own room.

It was Mother's Birthday, and he loved that day for one reason. That was the day of the year when she was as happy as never on any other days. That occasion was always awaited, both by Mother, and secretly him as well. He could see her happy at last. This day was even more important than Christmas itself. Mother was taking preparations. In the past few days, she was cleaning, dusting, ironing, washing, waxing the floor and cooking and baking. The whole kitchen was filled with delicious smells of freshly baked chocolate cake and apple sauce. The boy licked his mouth that was covered by his white cloth mask, and sniffed in the air for some minutes. The smell made him happy and eager at the same time. Maybe this one time he will receive a slice of cake? Was Mother cleaning and cooking because she wanted to spend a happy day with him? Will they spend a day together finally, in peace and love? Like a real mother and child?

It was time to get prepared then. Lunch is being served, he shall not be late to make Mother angry and disappointed.

The boy jumped off of the bed and walked to the wardrobe. He opened the drawer in which Mother was keeping his clothes, and he picked out an elegant dark blue waistcoat that was embroidered with yellow leaf pattern, and a black coat that had the nicest buttons he could imagine. He usually whined about collars and cravats when Mother forced them on him on Christmas day or on Sundays, but now he was happy to put on a white collar and a black cravat to be the most elegantly dressed boy for Mother's liking. He looked like a little gentleman, contrary to his starved frame and enormously long bony fingers. He had even the urge to brush his messy dark hair to make a better impression.

Her joyful humming filled the hall as she was walking back and forth between the kitchen and dining room to serve lunch. The boy put on his finest shoes for the last step, and rubbed his handkerchief against the buckle to make it shine. He then pressed the doorknob and proudly walked downstairs and sat down to the table. He knew nothing about etiquette regarding where to sit, so he accidentally took a seat at the main place. He was patiently waiting for Mother to join him and was examining the finest china they had. Mother only used it on Christmas, Easter and her Birthday. His was never celebrated, yet he knew when it was, because Mother angrily yelled at him that his Birth date was fitting, as such a Monster could only be born on every leap- year. Even if February 29 showed up in the calendar, Mother still refused to acknowledge its presence, so the only Birthday he ever saw celebrated was Mother's.

He was preparing to say a speech when Mother arrives in the room. He did not exactly know what to say other than wishing her a Happy Birthday, but he was trying to collect his thoughts. He was thinking about Mother's beautiful young face, her dark wavy thick hair that framed her pale, but symmetric face like a frame did the most beautiful and stunning painting. Her brown eyes that reflected so much sadness mostly, but sometimes lit up with joy, and her lips like cherry. She was a work of art. All her body reflected symmetry, beauty, gracefulness and elegance.

"Mother, you are as beautiful as a work of art, you are like sunlight, when you step in a room, it gets lit up, as your face shines with God's love. You are the most sublime of women and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday."

He finally made up his speech and his heart pounded in his ear and his deformed small face blushed bright red under the mask in excitement when he noticed the beloved and so much desired being getting closer and closer.

As she stepped in to put the soup bowl to the center of the table and noticed the thing at the main seat, she gasped.

- How dare you sit there? – She nearly dropped the bowl filled with hot onion soup. – Get thee gone from there. – She added not too kindly.

- I beg your pardon. – He stood up and waited for her order regarding where he shall take a seat then.

- I have forgotten about you. – She admitted after a time, while she served the silverware, not looking directly at him. – Are you hungry? – She inquired out of routine.

- Yes, I am. – The boy admitted.

- Wait till I am finished with the preparations. – She sighed. – Then I give you a few croutons that we won't need for the soup here.

- Who is we? – He asked softly.

- That's none of your business. I am waiting for guests, so you will stay in the cellar until they leave.

- But I thought…

- What?

- I thought you will eat with me that is why you are preparing.

- You? – She laughed out loud to this kind of nonsense.

- I have put on my finest clothes to look good on your Birthday. – He admitted.

- Oh, you… you stupid thing… - She looked at the child at last, to examine how he looked. – You put on those clothes so that I have more things to wash and iron. You cause nothing but work and on Earth gave you the impression that I want to eat lunch with you on my Birthday, when I don't want to eat lunch with you on any other day either? – She barked. – Have you forgotten you are not allowed to sit at the table? You always eat in your room.

- I thought it was now allowed to, being a celebration. – He whispered.

- Look, I have no time to chit-chat with you. Go and take off those clothes before you sweat them through, and walk down to the cellar. I am going to take you some food down to you when I am free. And don't even think of coming up, as if you dare to do so, you shall receive what you deserve after.

- Yes, Mother. – He nodded and dragged himself back upstairs to change, but before he walked to the cellar door, he thought of something. He returned to Mother and looked at her with a hopeful expression.

- Are you still here? What do you want? – Geneviéve started to lose her patience. – How many times do I have to ask you to leave me alone and go to your place?

The small skeleton dropped on his knees in front of her and lowered his head, climbing to her feet on hands and knees and caught the hem of her dress.

- Please mother, let your poor son eat with you once in his life! Please don't send him down to that cold and dark place! He is afraid down there! – He begged.

- Stop it! – Geneviéve backed a few steps away, but the bony fingers were still clinging to her dress.

- Mother, have mercy! He would so like to see your beautiful face in front of him while you have lunch… it would be so pleasant… I know I don't deserve it… if you insist I am not going to eat so I won't have to lift the mask… - He was shaken by sobs bursting up from his small chest, and he was pulling the soft material close to himself, as he was afraid he was going to lose Mother forever if he lets the dress go.

- Stop it, you small monster, or I will lock you up in the cellar for the rest of your miserable life and you shall never ever come up again to see me! – She yelled at him and ripped her skirt out of his grip, then sent a forceful kick in that bony side.

She was so much disgusted of this pleading and crawling of that small idiot, he was honestly acting as a worm, and he looked like one, to begin with. The masked thing was rubbing his side for a few seconds, trying to breathe normally, contrary to being in pain, and he slowly stood up to his feet. He was staring at her with tearful eyes and gasping for breath still. He did not know what to do. That sudden scene between Mother and him did make him speechless. He felt like a pot of boiling hot water was suddenly poured on him. His skin got numb and he felt he was unable to move.

- Go away. I have no time dealing with your tantrums. The meat is going to dry out. – She stated coldly, as she hurried back in the kitchen.

The boy was standing there, shaking from a feeling he wasn't able to describe yet with his five year- old mind. All of a sudden, Bisous appeared in the room. That small disgusting overbred lap-dog of Mother. She was wearing a pink ribbon in her goddamned neck. How he loathed that idiot thing. It was a small shoe- cleaner carpet cruiser. She was small, fat and spoiled. She looked her mouth with delight, indicating that she just gobbled up some treat from Mother's hands. Yes, Bisous was allowed to eat with Mother. She had leftovers from meals, which is why she was so fat. A few more years and she was going to roll around rather than walk around. But the worst thing wasn't that fact, but that Mother absolutely ADORED her.

Bisous had an own armchair. She was allowed to sleep on the couch. She was shown to visitors with pride. She was petted, hugged, and kissed. Mother would give her kisses all over her disgusting furry face, she did not mind if the ugly thing licked her face in return. On the contrary, she encouraged her to do so. She was calling her "My little Princess, my love, my dear", and many more kind and sweet names.

He, however, only was allowed to sit in his room, sleep on that bed or in the cellar, had to retreat to the cellar if visitors came, sometimes for days, and he never received a single kiss from Mother. The only thing he got now was only a kick. He was called a monster, an idiot, a skeleton, a living dead, a corpse, a bastard, and anything but nice and clever by Mother. He never had anything delicious to eat from those leftovers, he mostly had to eat some bread with warm milk (how he loathed milk, even the smell made him gag), milk and rice, bread and butter, vegetable dishes, or sometimes, toast.

Well, the small pest arrived at his feet, growling at him, just as she was also sending him away. Now even YOU growl at me? Well, then, you will receive just what you deserve, you fat bastard!

The boy kicked the dog in the side just as violently as Mother kicked him before. That small rat flew across the whole room! He was so delighted to see that, as finally he was able to repay some of his pain that small thing had caused him. He even let out a small delighted chuckle, up until he felt an enormous slap that sent him to the wall.

- How dare you?! – Geneviéve grabbed him and shook him so hard he thought he was going to lose his whole head as it will fall down. He received some slaps and he was dragged to the cellar door, pushed inside with a forceful kick in his rear and the door got slammed after him, and the key turned in the lock.

Of course, he should have expected something like this would happen. Mother could have killed the person who hurt her beloved Bisous. With a painful moan, he rose to his feet and walked to the end of the room where a wooden chair and small table were put for him, with a mattress on the floor, covered with some quite used blankets. In the other corner he had a basin with some folded towels, soap and a huge pitcher of water for washing himself, and a chamber pot for his natural needs. On the top of the table there was an oil lamp with a pile of books he had the fortune to carry down with him the last time he was sent down here. He lit the lamp and started to read to ease his pain and loneliness.

This was the thing he hated about Mother's special day – no matter what he did, no matter how he acted, whether he committed good or bad things, he ended up down there the same way. In tales, they say that good acts deserve a reward – he never got a reward if he was a good boy. He did not wish for huge and pricey things – only Mother's love and acceptance.

Not too much later, he heard the so happily awaited visitor arrived. It was a man, and Mother called him George. It was his Uncle. He knew him already by the voice, but he never saw him. He heard laughter, happy chatting and kisses as Mother led Uncle to the dining room. She was totally changed. She had the best mood ever, not even thinking of him anymore. His stomach growled with hunger. He hadn't eaten anything yet that day. Mother did not come down to him with any food, contrary to her promises. Maybe he was in punishment and he won't get anything at all. Those joyful laughs bothered him, and he couldn't concentrate on reading that book about Newton's physics because of those happy laughs, sounds of glasses getting clinked together, smell of food finding its way through the cellar door, and his growing hunger. He knew that he was nonexistent to the world other than Mother. Uncle George should never know about him, as Mother is ashamed of her own son. He was ugly and did not deserve to have a Birthday meal with Mother. She invited her brother, but not her son. He was unwanted, unneeded, unloved and a shame upon Mother's name.

- May that soup and meat stick in your throats. – He murmured softly, while wiping off some of his tears. He was now allowed to remove the mask: no one saw him down there. – I won't invite you to my Birthdays either, Mother. – He went on angrily.

Hours flew to Geneviéve, but spent awfully slow to the young boy. As time passed down in the cellar, and he could hear Uncle had already left, and the front door closed behind him, but he wasn't let out still, he got afraid he might have really stuck in the cellar for his entire life. In the evening, Mother opened the door to throw some bread down at him, but she locked the door again, not waiting for an answer. Yes, he was punished. He had to stay down even after Uncle left – because Mother did not want him around in the house. He knew it was because he hurt Bisous. He started feeling sorry for the thing, as she was hated by him just as Mother loathed his presence. He knew it was a horrible feeling, so he decided he will ask for Bisous's forgiveness if he will be ever let upstairs.

Mother had at least a happy day. He should be happy for her instead of being jealous. Uncle gave her that happiness he could never give, no matter how hard he was trying.

He closed his eyes and imagined for some moments that Mother came down to him, and smiled at him, genuinely, out of her heart. She said "Good night son." She held him close to herself, and gave him a kiss on his cheek before opening his eyes again. The cellar, of course, was empty and Mother did not kiss him good night. At least, he could wish her that, no matter if she hears it or not.

- Good night, and Happy Birthday Mother. – He whispered in front of himself at the end of the day when he climbed under the blanket on his mattress to slowly cry himself to sleep.