Salutations to one and all! I've always wanted to write a genre of this sort, so here I am trying my hand on it. I don't know much about my writing powers on tragedies and angst (although, I am quite a fan of them), but I do hope this one works out, if not well then I hope you at least have a good day/evening.


"Mathieu."

"Oui, Papa?"

"Je t'aime, mon cher. Papa is so sorry. Always remember Papa loves you. Désolé Mathieu…"

"Euh? Papa, why are you crying?"

Little Matthew had always been a respectful, considerate, introverted individual, even as a grown up. He was always polite to the guests whenever they visited him. He never asked for anything his Papa couldn't give, never complained about eating his food, and not once even cried when the scary doctors took his blood for samples.

For as long as the poor boy can remember, he was regularly under constant supervision and checkup. From the eyes of every person he's associated with, Matthew was a fragile individual that could break from even the slightest touch, sight, sound, and most dangerously; word. Due to this difficult predicament, children within his age group, including the parents nonetheless, seldom communicated with the toddler. Aside from the glassy eyed doctors, the intimidatingly cheerful nurses, and the needles, Papa was the only one Matthew could comfortably familiarize with and trust.

Papa Francis was the one and only person in the whole universe who could sympathize with his condition and inexhaustibly offer the greatest patience, care, and love. Papa Francis who would go out of his way getting punched and kicked at just for the sake of consoling the temperamental boy. Papa Francis who would stay up all night during the summers just to wipe the sweat off his little boy's forehead and make sure he wouldn't overheat and get hyperthermia. And most of all, it was Papa Francis who cried and shed his tears for him. When he was sad, rejected, angry, and even when he was happy, enlightened, or laughing, Papa always cried for him.

All his life, Matthew had continuously heard himself labeled as 'a special child.' He'd asked them what kind of special he was, whether he was sporty special, artistic special, beautiful special, intelligent special, or perhaps even remarkably special. The nurses would just sport their jaded smiles and tell him that he was the unique type of special. Outside the brightly painted rooms and optimistic posters that dotted every single corner of the clinics, he did not hear their more technical terms for their 'special child' and his 'unique circumstances.'

He was barely two years of age, a mere toddler, when Papa Francis received the most devastating news; his son diagnosed with autism and an incredibly rare case of CIPA. That night of the shocking news, unbeknownst to cherub-faced baby Matthew, his loving father was cradling his sleeping form, weeping and praying for the hardships that will befall their lives in the forthcoming future.


Author's Notes:

1. How was it? Too much? Too little? Constructive criticism would be quite helpful, but please do be polite about it.

2. The story was generally meant to be a one-shot, but it's very interesting to write and research about. I'd like to write more but I'm afraid that the plot would be too overused or just outright boring for the reader's tastes since there are quite a lot of other disorder related fanfics out there, especially on Canada. Plus I have another story to get back to. I don't know?

3. One more thing, most of you probably know what autism is but not CIPA. CIPA stands for Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis. It's a rare disorder in which the patient doesn't feel pain, heat, or cold because of their unusual nervous system. The anhidrosis makes it a bit more complicated because the bodies are not subjected to feeling hot or cold, thus it can overheat and vice-versa. It's a sad case and the treatments for it don't always work.

Thanks for reading.