Ichiro Moriyama

It was evening outside, raining and cold. I ran with all my strength, not knowing where I was going. I was wearing only a dark gray T-shirt, black shorts, and my previously white socks, which had become dark from the mud. My entire body was covered in bruises and cuts, and blood was running down my legs. Somewhere in the distance, I heard my stepfather's rough voice and realized that I would rather die somewhere on the street than stay with him for even a minute longer. I took another drag from my inhaler, which contained practically nothing. My asthma was kicking in, making it harder to breathe, but I kept running, not knowing where, until I crashed into someone. I would have fallen to the ground if someone's strong arms hadn't grabbed my thin body. Afterwards, everything went dark before my eyes, and before the power went out, I only heard someone’s voice say: “Mr. Ichiro?!”