I love my family.
After all, I have to,
don't I?
But then why doesn't it work the other way?
Why doesn't my family love me?
I get told that my family will always love me
by my teacher, and teachers can't be wrong.
As if that's true. They know
nothing about you, so how could they
teach you
about you?
Big brother says he hates me,
little big brother says he wishes I wasn't here,
mother doesn't really talk to me,
and father doesn't look like he cares.
But if teachers are always right,
they have to love me,
right?
Of course they don't.
The teachings of "Your family will always
love you."
Is a lie.
Little big brother is angry.
He's yelling and knocking things over.
He pulled something out of his pocket.
What is that?
Oh! Father uses that
for making vegetables smaller.
Does little big brother want vegetables?
It's better than eating an animal by a lot, so
it's okay.
But then,
why is he coming closer to me?
I stare at him because I don't understand.
Why does he press it against my arm?
Red?
Hot but cold?
Wet but searing?
I learned what this is.
Blood.
It's dripping down my arm and it burns,
even though there's no heat.
Little big brother washes his hands
and the thing he was holding.
He puts it in a black thing, but I can
still see some of it.
Little big brother puts bandaids on my arm
and tells me to not tell anyone
or he'll do it again, worse.
And you really have never told anyone
until you decided to write it down.
Even when you write it somewhere,
You ask people not to read it.
Even if you wanted to tell someone,
you wouldn't
Or rather, you can't
because you have no one to tell
because you're
Alone
