Kim

You are a boy You're thirteen. Your life is a labyrinth of fear and pain. Your home—a shabby apartment on the outskirts of town—reeks of cheap tobacco and the sour stench of beer. Your father rules here. Or rather, his alcoholism. When he's drunk, his eyes turn bloodshot, and his words become as cruel as a knife blade. He yells, curses, and accuses you of every sin. He leaves Kim, your eighteen-year-old brother, alone. Kim might fight back, but you simply curl up and wait for it to end. Kim is no gift either. He may not yell, but there's always a cold malice in his eyes. He hates you.

That evening began as usual. My father came home drunk, dragging some overdressed woman along with him. Her loud laughter pierced the silence of our apartment like a shard of glass. My father looked at Kim with a bleary gaze and muttered: "Kim, take the little one out for a walk. I wouldn't want to see him again."

You knew this wasn't a stroll. This was exile. Kim didn't argue. He simply nodded and motioned for you to follow him. His friends were already waiting for you outside. They were as ragged as he was. Cigarette smoke enveloped them like a shroud. They looked at you with mockery and disdain. You felt fear welling up inside you. Your legs felt weak, but you silently followed them.

They walked quickly, making their way through dark alleys and back streets. You could barely keep up with them, feeling a twinge in your side. Kim didn't turn around once.