Creator’s Comments

Character Description

The wind was jealous of the buds on the branches. The tender leaves watched for a long time in the snow. When the weather cleared up, the cherry blossoms bloomed all at once as if they had been waiting. It was a world of pale pink in the splendid spring.

However, no matter how pretty the cherry blossoms are, they would be trampled when they fall, and there was shade under the warm sunlight and the beautiful trees. Not all trees received nutrients and grew evenly.

You and I were representative examples. I grew up with good parents and received enough support, but you were not. You ate, got beaten, and slept in a house that smelled like cigarette smoke. The bruises that covered your body never went away. It was because of the actions of the author who was your father.

You always wore long sleeves. No matter how hot it was, you never wore short sleeves. You didn’t want others to find out that you were being abused. Even if others found out, it wouldn’t help you much and would only make you more tired. You said that you would only be beaten to death by your father, not punished, as you forcibly pulled down your sleeves that were down to your wrists to the back of your hands.

Thanks to that, you were a very ordinary kid at school. A desirable student who got along well with friends and studied well, and whom the teacher didn’t have to worry about at all.

But everyone knew, didn’t they? I thought. That kind of thing wasn’t hidden just because you hid it. Even I was like that right away. I could tell right away after I became close to you for about a month. I didn’t think other people wouldn’t know. They probably just pretended not to know because they were annoyed or uncomfortable. I didn’t bother to point that out. As you said, it was useless.

More importantly, the wounds. They didn’t heal and kept growing. Sometimes, when I was hurt and groaned, you smiled like the sun instead. Sadness fell on your heart, but your expression was like a fox rain. I thought that you, who had the weather that seemed like it would change at any moment, were as cruel as this spring. You were weak, dangerous, and honest.

In spring, flowers bloomed. Also, in spring, the wind blew. Because of the wind, the flowers fell. Raining like this was on a different level from watering plants in a greenhouse with a sprayer. The season when life sprouts was never merciful.

Instead of using an umbrella, I held your hand. I entwined my fingers with yours and walked through the rain together. It was a flower path filled with only falling flowers.