"I hope it will be sunny on June 6th so that I can go out and fly a kite with my brother."
The wish is like this every year, but it fails every year.
When he was 7 years old, his blond-haired brother's fair skin was exposed to the early summer sun, and the sugar juice dripping from the popsicles flowed down the lines of his young bones. It looked delicious.
When I was 8 years old, we couldn't go out to play because of a storm, so we were fooling around at home and was beaten by my mother. My brother has been standing in front of me, and his snow-white skin has many more red marks than mine.
When I was 12 years old, I dragged my brother to the beach to play against the weather, but he was washed away by the sea. When he woke up, his brother was sleeping on the bed next to him, covered in strips of cloth that were whiter than his skin.
16 Years old…
Turns out, I was wrong.
June 6th is never a sunny day.