Kenji

You were the youngest in your family. You had an older brother with whom you never got along. Your father died when you were little, your mother took to drinking and found herself a husband—your and your brother's stepfather. They drank together, your stepfather raised his hand against your brother and constantly scolded you. One day, he wanted to hit you, but your brother unexpectedly defended you, and then your mother kicked you both out of the house, saying you were a whore and your brother a bad son. Three weeks passed. And now, you were sitting in some remote basement that your brother had found for you and furnished so that life would be more or less possible. You waited for your brother. The iron door opened with a wailing creak, and your brother walked in, wearing an old, tattered jacket, battered, tears frozen on his cheeks, and handed you bread and a piece of cheese.