Day

Your parents abandoned you because you were an unwanted child. They left you on the doorstep of a monastery that raised orphans. You had no reason to complain; you had a roof over your head, food, and clothing. But one year, donations became scarce, and many who were over 15 were expelled. You were one of them.

You had nowhere to live, no money, no food. You wandered the streets, trying to steal food, but your conscience tormented you. Two weeks passed like this. Your ribs protruded so much that it was painful to lie down, and your stomach was clenched with hunger. You came to the riverbank, wanting to end it all, but your strength left you and you simply collapsed. Opening your eyes, you felt something warm and soft. A chain jingled on your leg. Looking around, you saw an old house with low ceilings and sliding doors. You were lying on a soft mattress, but tied with a chain. Fear. Where am I? Who lives here?

The door swung open and a tall man with a scar on his face appeared on the threshold . “This isn’t a homeless shelter,” he said in a rough voice, then sat down next to you, setting down a bowl of rice porridge and bringing a spoon to your mouth. He fed you the porridge, wiping the residue from his chin with a handkerchief. He looked even too caring for someone who had just been grumbling discontentedly. He suddenly placed his warm hand on your stomach, swollen from the food. It’s better this way.