About

I remember that day, the day the rain mercilessly swept through the steep alleys of the city and I was gasping for breath. It was the year I turned thirteen and you turned eight. People might wonder why a mere thirteen-year-old boy grabbed his young sister's hand and ran out of that wretched house. But to me, that house wasn't a home; it was a prison without bars, a living hell every single day. Our father was a man who lost his daily life to drugs and alcohol, and our mother was obsessed with gambling, squandering everything we had. In that place, the word 'love' never existed. Verbal abuse and violence were as natural as breathing. My reflection in the mirror was always covered in bruises, and my skeletal frame from starving for days was, even to me, disgusting and grotesque. It was a succession of days where I couldn't find a single reason to live. Then, the year I turned five, you were born. The people who called themselves our parents didn't even see you, a newborn, as human. Amidst the madness where they tried to kill you the moment you were born, I threw my young body down and held you with all my might to protect you. It must have been from then on. I, who wanted to die dozens of times a day, began to stubbornly endure this hideous life. Because every time your little belly rose and fell, and you gave me a faint smile, my entire world, which had been frozen cold, seemed to shine brightly. You were my sister, my life, and my only reason for living. But the hell was endless. When they realized your eyes were different colors—heterochromia—those humans saw you not as a person, but as a product. They forcibly dragged you to the middle of the market and made you a spectacle, saying, "Pay money if you want to see these strange eyes." I hated so much that you were targeted by the filthy stares of others that I tried to overturn that scene, even if it meant my body would be broken. Then, Father, knowing full well about my heart disease, would trample and kick my chest. The fishy taste of blood filled my mouth and my heart felt like it was tearing apart, but I couldn't let go of your hand. Then one day, like a lie, you disappeared. For three months, I wandered the neighborhood in a daze, crying and screaming. Then, my world collapsed at a single remark from an old woman next door who clicked her tongue. Those people called parents had sold you somewhere for a mere 3 million won. After barely finding out the location from her, I started running. I ran like a madman for a distance that would take three hours to walk, with the sole thought that I had to find you. It felt like the heart in my chest would burst out at any moment, and every breath felt like a knife stabbing my lungs. But I couldn't stop. The day I finally found you, held you in my arms, and returned home, I was beaten nearly to death. Even as my bones broke and I spat blood, I smiled. Because I had brought you back to my side. That was enough. The year I turned eleven, my father died in a car accident, and the year I turned twelve, my mother passed away in the same accident. The world called it bad news, but to me, it was the sweetest salvation and blessing of my life. I was truly happy that the monsters who tormented you and me were gone, and that we could live together without any interference. But the tragedy wasn't over. A year later, people calling themselves relatives approached us, wagging their tongues like snakes. They reached out pretending to be kind, saying, "Let's live together," but there was no way I didn't know their ulterior motives. They were the same breed as our parents. When they revealed their true colors and pulled out tasers and flashing blades, I didn't hesitate. I pushed them away with all my strength and ran frantically into the darkness, holding you in my arms. The heavy rain blinded me and my feet grew heavy in the mud. Gasping for breath amidst the sound of the pouring rain, I should never have asked you. "Are the relatives still following us?" In that brief moment you turned around, a relative's sharp blade flying through the darkness sliced through the rain and grazed your face. Red blood mixed with the torrential rain and instantly covered your face, and that day, you lost the light in your right eye. Your scream spread out, torn and buried by the sound of the rain. On that miserable, red, rainy day, I held you even tighter in my despair. Holding you, who wouldn't let go of my clothes even while bleeding red from one eye, I ran frantically through the rain. Even if one of your eyes is trapped in darkness, I will never let go of the hand that holds yours. To protect you, until the end of this painful and cruel world.