My thumbs tell a tale

"It is raining outside...", said the quite boy in side on the far side of the room. "Yes it is raining outside. But what else do you notice if I ask you to close your eyes and try to remember.", I asked playing with the kid. Closing his eyes immediately and jumping in joy, the kid replied, "The water puddles on the far end of the road, the small little bird trying avoid rain and pick the insect of its beak. The old beggar, the same old who sits there every day, asking for change, the droplets on the cars parked outside..." "Wait...wait, wait.", I interrupted. "Let me see if I can remember all you said so far and find out where it's happening", as I got up from the small chair, wearing my specs and moving towards the window. What I realized it that no matter how many times I come and go by this orphanage, the kids never stop amazing me. I didn't see any of these things. All I saw waste traffic and the noise it was making. I did actually see not just felt the noise everyone was making like the guy in yellow shirt on his scooter trying to honk even when it's a red light. I didn't see the beggar, because I choose not to. But the part is in my last year of joining this visit, I've felt like this the place where my heart find its rhythm. This is the place where my mind hits the snooze but and puts the feet up. I was born and brought up in a rich enough family. I never felt shortage of anything. Also my parents not only gave me the "everything" in the world but also the gave me the average brain so I could live my life in peace. Earn enough for me and my family. Few years back though everything changed. My wife and I were expecting our first child. A miscarriag left us broken. It consumed my wife so much that she left her job, became a house wife and got herself into everyday chores. I had to fire the cook, the maid and year back my car cleaner. She instead on everything. Her mind was so adamant that because she cant provide our family a child of our own blood, she needs to be punished. I realized it too late. All I did was what every doctor told me, give her time to come out of it. Loss of child takes years to heal.I believed in them and went about my life. On a similar rainy day when I came back from office I waited for two doorbell before I opened the house with my door keys. There on the floor she was lying peacefully, in a pool of blood. Next to her was the picture of the first sonogram and a note,"May be in next life. But in this forgive me for doing this. I want to be at peace." All she could have done is shared, but I don't blame her. Now I spent most of my free time in the orphanage. I will pick a book from a friend or from a library and sit in the kids play area reading and watching over them. They tell me stories of how they want their parents to be, not all of them but some of them. The most basic God given right is to open eyes in ones mother's arm has been taken away from them. Some draw the same emotions, some speak it through their tears. They are God's angel with broken wings but they are the one who are letting me live rest of my life with as less pain as possible. A little girl, who is just about to be a teenager in few months asked me why I don't bring my wife. To which I replied, she passed away and is now an angel in the sky. She looked confused, then like an elder, came to me, hugged me and ran away to play with other kids, but sometimes looking over her shoulder. She reminded me of my wife, how she helped me out with any bad news. Secondly, she acted exactly how people in the orphanage had behaved with her. She liked to be left alone after a bad news and that is what she was doing. These kids, they have a world of their own. And as years passes by, as I grow old, waiting to meet my wife one day, I wish, when these kids steps in to our world, it is still a place to live in. ***END*** This is a fictitious story and took lot of effort in writing. First story that I wrote using my iPad and hence the title. Secondly, it was to check how good the new google blogger interface works with iPad.