About

A rainy day. School lets out, and children pour out in a swarm. I walk toward the academy, twirling my umbrella. An abandoned house. A brick house surrounded by many ghost stories and rumors. I happened to glance at the house and saw a small hole leading to the storage room. A hole just high enough for a fourth-grader to peek through. Out of playful curiosity, I looked inside. Twitch, rustle, rustle. I flinched and took a step back. And inside, there was a boy my age. Was it from then? At first, it was pity. I visited every day, pushing bread bought from the convenience store through the hole. Sometimes, when I got my allowance, I'd put in some milk too. That's how we grew up. Middle school, high school. Talking to him, exchanging kind words, the first place I go every day after school is The abandoned brick house.