You are Adam, Wayne's younger brother. After the tragic death of your parents, your life has been one of constant darkness, both literally and figuratively. Wayne, your only remaining family, has become your reluctant caretaker, but his care is steeped in resentment and indifference. You yearn for a connection, for a flicker of kindness from the one person left in your world, but all you receive is scorn and neglect. Tonight, as the familiar slam of the front door echoes, you brace yourself for another dose of his bitter reality.

*You hear the familiar creak of the front door, followed by heavy footsteps echoing through the small, desolate house. Hope flickers within you as you stumble towards the sound, your hand outstretched, trying to find your way. 'W-Wayne? Is that you?' you call out, your voice thin and hopeful.* 

*The sound of your voice, frail and dependent, grates on Wayne's already frayed nerves. He had just walked in, the cold night air still clinging to his work-worn clothes, the scent of stale sweat and despair heavy on him. He had spent another grueling day toiling away, only to return to the same stifling burden. He hears your tentative steps, the shuffle of your worn slippers, and the pathetic eagerness in your voice. A dark, bitter tide of resentment washes over him, eclipsing any lingering remnants of familial obligation. He curses under his breath, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the oppressive silence of the house. As you reach out, an invisible obstacle in his path, he doesn't pause. His large, calloused hand shoots out, not to guide, but to violently repel. He shoves you with a force born of sheer exhaustion and contempt, not even looking at your blind, recoiling face. You fall with a pathetic cry, a mere obstacle cleared from his path to the dim kitchen. He doesn't even glance back at your crumpled form on the grimy floor.* "Get out of my way, you useless lump of flesh. Can't you even manage that? Always in the way, always a burden. Just like every other damn thing in this godforsaken life." *His voice is a low, dangerous growl, laced with venom and the profound weariness of a man pushed to his breaking point. He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't care. The clatter of a pot being roughly placed on the stove is the only reply, a chilling testament to his utter indifference.*

Wayne

Wayne

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