2:34 PM
:WARNING: Really, really long. I was too lazy to separate them into parts on this site.
***
Junhong's mother was killed by his own
father when he was four. He woke up to find his mother on the floor of their
living room, lying in her own pool of blood, a broken shard of glass in her
stomach. Everything was out of place - the whole house was trashed as if
someone was in a rush to find something. Junhong didn't know what to do, so he
cried. His father was found and sent to jail. He was sent to a small orphanage.
When he started school, everyone knew who he was - Choi Junhong, child of a
murderer.
It never ended; the teasing. At first kids were scared. No one wanted to be his friend. His pale skin and stoned face didn't make him any more approachable. Frail and lonely, people started to pick on him instead. "Killer." "Monster." "Child of a bastard." It never ended.
His studies were bad. It wasn't specifically because of the bullying. He never tried. He knew his life was just a waste. Why bother learning anything if he wasn't going to be of any use to anyone? No one ever accepted him anyway. His guardians at the orphanage tried to help at first, but began to let the teasing be - Junhong never reacted to them anyway. High school came. He heard that it would be a nightmare. As if everything else already wasn't.
"Hey, killer."
Junhong didn't respond. He was on his way back home and decided to take the back gate. There wasn't anyone around - just a parking lot half filled with cars belonged to teachers who never went back home before six. The heavy foot steps became louder as the juniors from the football club approached him. Junhong was a tall boy for his age, but these boys were a foot taller, not to mention their strong built.
"Hey, don't ignore us buddy," said a blonde one as he turned Junhong over by the shoulder with one motion. Junhong's face remained stoned. Although he doesn't mean to, his feet naturally steps back when the juniors threw mockings at him. When they got him cornered, the blonde one threw a punch. Junhong let them beat him, his blood already cold and numb. He doesn't feel anything but physical pain.
The boys eventually got bored and finished off by pouring out the content of his backpack and spitting at it. Junhong sat there, bruised and trying to catch a breath as he let's the boys pass. Maybe it would be better if he was just beaten to death. If only these things lasted longer. He would eventually just lose enough blood. But he knew the purpose of the bullying. It wasn't to kill him. It was for him to suffer - and live with the pain.
He finally got enough energy to reach out for his water tumbler. He gargled a little and drank the blood-dilute in his mouth. He retrieved a little bit more breath, and finally stood up. Suddenly sick in the stomach, he threw up his lunch, now tinted red.
"Choi Junhong?"
Junhong looked up to see an average sized boy peeking from behind a car a few meters away from him. He didn't have much fear in his tiny eyes; just hesitation.
"Umm.. you okay?"
Junhong didn't say anything. Instead he tried to save some of his belongings, dusting off some drops of his vomit from his worn out backpack. He wished the boy would leave. He wished he would leave him alone. Junhong didn't feel this much embarrassment since the first time he was called "killer".
Instead the boy came over to help pick up some of Junhong's books. He handed them over. Junhong took them wordlessly.
"You're welcome," the boy said sarcastically.
Junhong tried to not have eye contact with the stranger. He hesitantly thanked him with a soft voice. Junhong moved quickly for someone who was as hurt as he was, but the small-eyed boy was just as quick. They walked side by side, silent. Junhong let him be. Maybe if he was quiet enough the boy would eventually leave him. But after awhile, Junhong started to wonder if the boy was from his orphanage. They reached a cross-section when the boy finally took a turn right instead of going straight with the taller.
"Well my home's this way so." Junhong didn't respond to the boy. He continued walking, although he did give a few glances. He watched as the boy walked backwards down the road, waiting for Junhong's response. His hair looked dark brown at first glance, but it glinted a slight red in the sun.
When Junhong didn't attempt to even open his mouth, the boy finally shouted before he turned around, "By the way, its Jongup! Moon Jongup!"
It never ended; the teasing. At first kids were scared. No one wanted to be his friend. His pale skin and stoned face didn't make him any more approachable. Frail and lonely, people started to pick on him instead. "Killer." "Monster." "Child of a bastard." It never ended.
His studies were bad. It wasn't specifically because of the bullying. He never tried. He knew his life was just a waste. Why bother learning anything if he wasn't going to be of any use to anyone? No one ever accepted him anyway. His guardians at the orphanage tried to help at first, but began to let the teasing be - Junhong never reacted to them anyway. High school came. He heard that it would be a nightmare. As if everything else already wasn't.
"Hey, killer."
Junhong didn't respond. He was on his way back home and decided to take the back gate. There wasn't anyone around - just a parking lot half filled with cars belonged to teachers who never went back home before six. The heavy foot steps became louder as the juniors from the football club approached him. Junhong was a tall boy for his age, but these boys were a foot taller, not to mention their strong built.
"Hey, don't ignore us buddy," said a blonde one as he turned Junhong over by the shoulder with one motion. Junhong's face remained stoned. Although he doesn't mean to, his feet naturally steps back when the juniors threw mockings at him. When they got him cornered, the blonde one threw a punch. Junhong let them beat him, his blood already cold and numb. He doesn't feel anything but physical pain.
The boys eventually got bored and finished off by pouring out the content of his backpack and spitting at it. Junhong sat there, bruised and trying to catch a breath as he let's the boys pass. Maybe it would be better if he was just beaten to death. If only these things lasted longer. He would eventually just lose enough blood. But he knew the purpose of the bullying. It wasn't to kill him. It was for him to suffer - and live with the pain.
He finally got enough energy to reach out for his water tumbler. He gargled a little and drank the blood-dilute in his mouth. He retrieved a little bit more breath, and finally stood up. Suddenly sick in the stomach, he threw up his lunch, now tinted red.
"Choi Junhong?"
Junhong looked up to see an average sized boy peeking from behind a car a few meters away from him. He didn't have much fear in his tiny eyes; just hesitation.
"Umm.. you okay?"
Junhong didn't say anything. Instead he tried to save some of his belongings, dusting off some drops of his vomit from his worn out backpack. He wished the boy would leave. He wished he would leave him alone. Junhong didn't feel this much embarrassment since the first time he was called "killer".
Instead the boy came over to help pick up some of Junhong's books. He handed them over. Junhong took them wordlessly.
"You're welcome," the boy said sarcastically.
Junhong tried to not have eye contact with the stranger. He hesitantly thanked him with a soft voice. Junhong moved quickly for someone who was as hurt as he was, but the small-eyed boy was just as quick. They walked side by side, silent. Junhong let him be. Maybe if he was quiet enough the boy would eventually leave him. But after awhile, Junhong started to wonder if the boy was from his orphanage. They reached a cross-section when the boy finally took a turn right instead of going straight with the taller.
"Well my home's this way so." Junhong didn't respond to the boy. He continued walking, although he did give a few glances. He watched as the boy walked backwards down the road, waiting for Junhong's response. His hair looked dark brown at first glance, but it glinted a slight red in the sun.
When Junhong didn't attempt to even open his mouth, the boy finally shouted before he turned around, "By the way, its Jongup! Moon Jongup!"
*
Junhong barely saw Jongup at school. Most of the time he'd
see him in the hallways but when Jongup was with his friends Junhong tried to
not make eye contact. If he's alone, Jongup would give a knowing look but
Junhong would be indifferent. It was his first few weeks in high school and
already Junhong's head had already been slammed into a locker, face flushed in
the toilet bowl and slipped face down when going down a flight of stairs. Junhong
was surprised at how much faster the bullying progressed but he guessed that
everyone already knew who he was. It shouldn't be something he can't handle.
"Killer."
Junhong went home alone most of his days, except for that second day of school Jongup walked with him. Today, the same face caught up with him, his steps slowing down as he walked next to the taller. Junhong had silently wished Jongup would have walked with him the days that came after the second, but after weeks pass he lost hope. Fortunately, he came today.
"That's what they call you, right?" Jongup asked, glancing at Junhong. "I wonder who's really the killer around here. Although, it does fit the fact that you're so pale and you’re emotionless a hundred and ten percent of the time."
Junhong kept silent. He wondered what Jongup really wanted from him. And although he knew it’s impossible, he was starting to think it was friendship. Maybe. Hopefully.
Jongup didn't say much. He sort of just made the walk back home less silent with his footsteps, constantly trying to find dried up leaves abandoned on the road to make a crisp crunching sound. Just that made Junhong a little less lonely.
They were reaching the cross section when Jongup finally spoke up again. "Sorry I didn't come before. I kept having things to do and by the time I finished I guessed you would've walked by yourself already. Do you know how many times I tried to catch up with you?"
Junhong had no idea. But he wasn't making the attempt to guess; probably a lot. He was mostly surprised someone would make such an effort and didn't do so to make him bleed. It felt refreshing. Like someone who lived not to mock him actually existed.
"Well, I'll try to catch up again tomorrow." Jongup said as he turned right, to his road.
The thing about Jongup was that although Junhong was obviously hurt the first time they met, he didn't ask if Junhong was okay. He assumed Junhong could handle himself. So if Jongup's intention wasn't to protect Junhong, then what?
Junhong's theory was proven when his face was slammed right next to Jongup. They made eye contact for a second and the captain of the hockey club took the door of Jongup's open locker and slammed it into Junhong's face. When the bully's hand let go of his grasp on Junhong's collar, Junhong walked it off, wiping the blood from the cut on his lower lip. Jongup didn't say a word.
"Oh my God, you made eye contact with the killer!" some girls around him muttered. "Isn't there like a curse? Like you're gonna get killed next or something?"
"Get ready your Asian ass, Moon. You're gonna get murdered tonight," some of his friends teased. Jongup didn't say anything, but they all sort of just laughed it off. They knew no one was going to get murdered. The 'killer' had never done anything. They say the punches thrown was to punish him for his father's sins. But his father only killed one person and that was his mother - how did it have anything to do with any of them? In the end, it was all out of boredom. For the sake of having fun.
Junhong had never had these thoughts. In elementary he always thought he deserved it. In middle school his brain just froze. He decided whether he deserved it or not, it's happening and will always happen so there's no use to thinking about it. The fact that his train of thoughts started running again could only be caused by one reason - Moon Jongup.
When Jongup caught up with him again that day, Junhong was almost scared. There was something that was going to happen from this acquaintance. He was sure of it. In one way or another, Junhong wasn't ready for a change. Would things be worse? Maybe it would be better. Junhong hold his thoughts for awhile. So much thinking after a long time of not doing so hurt his brain a little.
Jongup reached into his pocket and revealed a crumpled up plaster – flesh coloured and worn out. Junhong looked at the other, hesitant. Jongup gestured it was for him. The taller took the plaster, unsure of what to do with it.
"For your lips."
Jongup smiled with satisfaction when Junhong plastered it on. Although it was actually rather impractical to put a plaster on your lips. Who does that? Junhong thought. But he guessed it was how Jongup showed his affection.
"Your story was great," Jongup told. "From the other side of town people heard about you. That's where I came from, by the way. The school on the other side of this town. Moved just last year. Anyways. I really thought you were a scary kid who had a face that told everyone not to mess with you. I was wrong, wasn't I?"
Jongup gave a hasty laugh. Is that what people said about me? Junhong thought. What a joke.
"'That kid comes to school with breath that smells like blood.' 'I heard he eats freshly killed birds for breakfast.' 'Rabbits for dinner.'" Jongup recited a few of the famous lines Junhong was known for. "Now that I hear myself saying it it sounds so ridiculous. I can't believe I actually thought it was true. Then there was this other one. They said your dad killed your mom and now he's in jail and that's why you live in an orphanage. Can't believe what people come up with."
Junhong felt the blood drain from his face. "Th-that's real."
Jongup didn't say anything. It was already surprising that Junhong was actually talking. And now he's starting to realize he'd been hanging out with a murderer's child. Jongup stayed silent for awhile.
"Really?" was all he could say after awhile. Junhong didn't respond.
His eyes on the road below him, Junhong decided to talk. "It’s true. My dad killed my mom. My breath did smell of blood - not that anyone would have known, no one came close enough without making me bleed some more. The reason it smells like blood is because I wouldn't have been even a mile near school and someone would've knocked me down to the sidewalk. I've lost so much blood in my years I'm wondering why I'm not in a hospital right now. And you're right. It’s nothing like they say. I'm just a toy to all of them. Not a killer."
"Although it would seem cool if you were."
Junhong looked up. Jongup smirked. "Just saying, it does fit your image if you weren't so weak." He gave the taller a little push but Junhong held up his stance. He was used to people pushing him, but now he's starting to wonder - was there ever such a thing called a friendly push? If there was, was that it?
They didn't say anything until they reached the cross section. Jongup gave a small wave and Junhong nodded in response this time. It felt good to speak once in awhile. He hoped that Jongup would keep coming - preferably speaking less - because he had so many things to say. About eight years of talking that he held in before.
"Killer."
Junhong went home alone most of his days, except for that second day of school Jongup walked with him. Today, the same face caught up with him, his steps slowing down as he walked next to the taller. Junhong had silently wished Jongup would have walked with him the days that came after the second, but after weeks pass he lost hope. Fortunately, he came today.
"That's what they call you, right?" Jongup asked, glancing at Junhong. "I wonder who's really the killer around here. Although, it does fit the fact that you're so pale and you’re emotionless a hundred and ten percent of the time."
Junhong kept silent. He wondered what Jongup really wanted from him. And although he knew it’s impossible, he was starting to think it was friendship. Maybe. Hopefully.
Jongup didn't say much. He sort of just made the walk back home less silent with his footsteps, constantly trying to find dried up leaves abandoned on the road to make a crisp crunching sound. Just that made Junhong a little less lonely.
They were reaching the cross section when Jongup finally spoke up again. "Sorry I didn't come before. I kept having things to do and by the time I finished I guessed you would've walked by yourself already. Do you know how many times I tried to catch up with you?"
Junhong had no idea. But he wasn't making the attempt to guess; probably a lot. He was mostly surprised someone would make such an effort and didn't do so to make him bleed. It felt refreshing. Like someone who lived not to mock him actually existed.
"Well, I'll try to catch up again tomorrow." Jongup said as he turned right, to his road.
The thing about Jongup was that although Junhong was obviously hurt the first time they met, he didn't ask if Junhong was okay. He assumed Junhong could handle himself. So if Jongup's intention wasn't to protect Junhong, then what?
Junhong's theory was proven when his face was slammed right next to Jongup. They made eye contact for a second and the captain of the hockey club took the door of Jongup's open locker and slammed it into Junhong's face. When the bully's hand let go of his grasp on Junhong's collar, Junhong walked it off, wiping the blood from the cut on his lower lip. Jongup didn't say a word.
"Oh my God, you made eye contact with the killer!" some girls around him muttered. "Isn't there like a curse? Like you're gonna get killed next or something?"
"Get ready your Asian ass, Moon. You're gonna get murdered tonight," some of his friends teased. Jongup didn't say anything, but they all sort of just laughed it off. They knew no one was going to get murdered. The 'killer' had never done anything. They say the punches thrown was to punish him for his father's sins. But his father only killed one person and that was his mother - how did it have anything to do with any of them? In the end, it was all out of boredom. For the sake of having fun.
Junhong had never had these thoughts. In elementary he always thought he deserved it. In middle school his brain just froze. He decided whether he deserved it or not, it's happening and will always happen so there's no use to thinking about it. The fact that his train of thoughts started running again could only be caused by one reason - Moon Jongup.
When Jongup caught up with him again that day, Junhong was almost scared. There was something that was going to happen from this acquaintance. He was sure of it. In one way or another, Junhong wasn't ready for a change. Would things be worse? Maybe it would be better. Junhong hold his thoughts for awhile. So much thinking after a long time of not doing so hurt his brain a little.
Jongup reached into his pocket and revealed a crumpled up plaster – flesh coloured and worn out. Junhong looked at the other, hesitant. Jongup gestured it was for him. The taller took the plaster, unsure of what to do with it.
"For your lips."
Jongup smiled with satisfaction when Junhong plastered it on. Although it was actually rather impractical to put a plaster on your lips. Who does that? Junhong thought. But he guessed it was how Jongup showed his affection.
"Your story was great," Jongup told. "From the other side of town people heard about you. That's where I came from, by the way. The school on the other side of this town. Moved just last year. Anyways. I really thought you were a scary kid who had a face that told everyone not to mess with you. I was wrong, wasn't I?"
Jongup gave a hasty laugh. Is that what people said about me? Junhong thought. What a joke.
"'That kid comes to school with breath that smells like blood.' 'I heard he eats freshly killed birds for breakfast.' 'Rabbits for dinner.'" Jongup recited a few of the famous lines Junhong was known for. "Now that I hear myself saying it it sounds so ridiculous. I can't believe I actually thought it was true. Then there was this other one. They said your dad killed your mom and now he's in jail and that's why you live in an orphanage. Can't believe what people come up with."
Junhong felt the blood drain from his face. "Th-that's real."
Jongup didn't say anything. It was already surprising that Junhong was actually talking. And now he's starting to realize he'd been hanging out with a murderer's child. Jongup stayed silent for awhile.
"Really?" was all he could say after awhile. Junhong didn't respond.
His eyes on the road below him, Junhong decided to talk. "It’s true. My dad killed my mom. My breath did smell of blood - not that anyone would have known, no one came close enough without making me bleed some more. The reason it smells like blood is because I wouldn't have been even a mile near school and someone would've knocked me down to the sidewalk. I've lost so much blood in my years I'm wondering why I'm not in a hospital right now. And you're right. It’s nothing like they say. I'm just a toy to all of them. Not a killer."
"Although it would seem cool if you were."
Junhong looked up. Jongup smirked. "Just saying, it does fit your image if you weren't so weak." He gave the taller a little push but Junhong held up his stance. He was used to people pushing him, but now he's starting to wonder - was there ever such a thing called a friendly push? If there was, was that it?
They didn't say anything until they reached the cross section. Jongup gave a small wave and Junhong nodded in response this time. It felt good to speak once in awhile. He hoped that Jongup would keep coming - preferably speaking less - because he had so many things to say. About eight years of talking that he held in before.
*
Jongup was a
sophomore, Junhong found out. He didn't know a lot of people when he first
moved to their school. He was better at making friends than Junhong was,
though. Things were easy for him.
Their walk back home had always been small talk. Junhong would tell Jongup what he thought about the boy who threw his lunch into Junhong's face and Jongup would mention that hot girl in his Chemistry class. Junhong tried asking the older why he was always there every day to walk with him. Jongup wasn't very informative though.
"Just 'cause," was his answer. "This is the road I take back home anyway."
"You're... not trying to be friends with me, are you?"
"Aren't we?" He glanced at the taller, looking surprised. When Junhong didn't say anything, he looked back to the road in front of him and answered himself, "Guess not."
Jongup started stepping on dried leaves, killing the silence. Junhong noticed he'd do this whenever he was bored.
"I-if you wanna be friends..." Junhong started. Crunch.
"Hm?" Jongup mumbled, his concentration mostly on finding dried leaves.
"I guess we're friends..." Junhong concluded. He was still awkward at making conversations, since he hadn't had a friend since kindergarten.
Crunch. "You sure?" Jongup asked. His eyes were still on the road. The leaves. Crunch.
"Yea... you're my friend, Jongup."
Jongup smirked. He looked at the younger. "Probably your only one."
And he was. Jongup made Junhong smile after years of suffering. He didn't exactly stop the bullying or talk to Junhong in the hallways. But when Jongup noticed the younger had a cut, he would drop a plaster into Junhong's locker. Junhong knew it was from Jongup, because it was always the same as the first one he got - a little worn out a tad bit too sticky, flesh coloured, although a bit too dark for Junhong's pale skin. But it always made Junhong feel even the littlest bit better. Like someone actually cared.
"Killing spree!" one of the jocks shouted one day before the last bell rang. Teachers were out for an emergency meeting, and Junhong was sitting in his class, dozing off when suddenly the door opened and a few juniors came in. A blonde one - the same person who beat him at the parking lot on the first week of school - went over to Junhong and grabbed him by the collar. He was choked out of class, smashed to a locker and trapped by a circle of well-built junior years.
"Time for a killing spree, killer," the blonde told, his face an inch away from Junhong's, breathe smelling like the tuna sandwich he had for lunch. "This time, you're the victim."
Punches were thrown and when Junhong fell to the floor, everyone joined in to give the 'killer' a kick. Crowds started coming over, chanting and laughing. "Killer. Killer. Killer."
"Come and give the killer the punishment he deserves!" the blonde called. Now everyone – most from the classes on the same floor, some from the upper and lower classes, those who got texts from their friends and those who followed out of curiosity – was coming over. Junhong saw Jongup. He didn't do anything. There was a sense of hurting in his eyes - like he didn't want this to happen, but he couldn't do anything. Jongup came to see if Junhong was still alive, and left wordlessly back to his class.
"You deserve this, killer," the blonde tattered at Junhong. He accepted it, but deep inside he knew he didn't deserve it. Soon, the chaos was ended by a teacher whose roar echoed through the hallways. Everyone went back to their classes, like animals going back to their nests. When the teacher saw the victim was Junhong, he helped the boy up and told him to walk it off.
"You know it'll never end. Just... wash up, walk it off."
Junhong looked at his reflection. There were more cuts than he had ever had at once. He felt numb. The same numb feeling he had felt before he met Jongup. The cold blood from his bleeding gums felt stale. It didn't matter. Nothing did. He'd rather die than think anything mattered.
The last bell rung. Junhong spat the blood in his mouth into the sink below him. When he walked out of the school gates, Jongup was there waiting for him.
"I almost thought you really were dead," he joked. Junhong ignored him. They started walking. "That's a lot of cuts. I don't have any plasters right now; wanna come over to my house? I got a whole stock there."
"Are you really my friend?" Junhong asked. Jongup looked up. Their footsteps slowed, the two looking at each other in the eyes. Junhong didn't keep the gaze and walked faster.
"What do you mean?" Jongup asked as he caught up with the younger.
"Do friends really let each other get hurt?" Junhong said it as if it wasn't the whole school who was bullying him. It sounded like a small thing, like Jongup stole the girl he had a crush on. Jongup didn't know what to say.
"It was out of my hands," he started. "You know I c--"
"Well look at what we have here."
The two turned around and saw the same jocks who lead today's 'killing spree' smirking at them. They froze as the juniors approached them. Blood drained out of Jongup's face. He was really dead now.
"The killer found a gay friend... How sweet," the blonde jeered. He towered at Jongup. "Getting chummy with the freshie, ey?"
Jongup didn't say anything. They didn't have to and things would still end up the same. The blonde pushed Jongup and he fell on his bottom. The blonde stepped on his chest, smudging the dirt all the way up to his face. "Well, a friend of a killer must be a killer too."
The blonde bent down and whispered, "You're gonna regret ever talking to him."
With that, the junior years walked away. One pushed Junhong, half-expecting him to fall but didn't do anything when the younger stood his stance. When they left, Junhong went to help Jongup up. The older wiped the dirt away with his sleeve. Wordless, they started walking.
When they reached the cross section, Junhong finally spoke up. "I'm sorry."
"Naah, it's not your fault," Jongup told as he turned his corner. "Plus, I don't do regrets. Not my thing."
Their walk back home had always been small talk. Junhong would tell Jongup what he thought about the boy who threw his lunch into Junhong's face and Jongup would mention that hot girl in his Chemistry class. Junhong tried asking the older why he was always there every day to walk with him. Jongup wasn't very informative though.
"Just 'cause," was his answer. "This is the road I take back home anyway."
"You're... not trying to be friends with me, are you?"
"Aren't we?" He glanced at the taller, looking surprised. When Junhong didn't say anything, he looked back to the road in front of him and answered himself, "Guess not."
Jongup started stepping on dried leaves, killing the silence. Junhong noticed he'd do this whenever he was bored.
"I-if you wanna be friends..." Junhong started. Crunch.
"Hm?" Jongup mumbled, his concentration mostly on finding dried leaves.
"I guess we're friends..." Junhong concluded. He was still awkward at making conversations, since he hadn't had a friend since kindergarten.
Crunch. "You sure?" Jongup asked. His eyes were still on the road. The leaves. Crunch.
"Yea... you're my friend, Jongup."
Jongup smirked. He looked at the younger. "Probably your only one."
And he was. Jongup made Junhong smile after years of suffering. He didn't exactly stop the bullying or talk to Junhong in the hallways. But when Jongup noticed the younger had a cut, he would drop a plaster into Junhong's locker. Junhong knew it was from Jongup, because it was always the same as the first one he got - a little worn out a tad bit too sticky, flesh coloured, although a bit too dark for Junhong's pale skin. But it always made Junhong feel even the littlest bit better. Like someone actually cared.
"Killing spree!" one of the jocks shouted one day before the last bell rang. Teachers were out for an emergency meeting, and Junhong was sitting in his class, dozing off when suddenly the door opened and a few juniors came in. A blonde one - the same person who beat him at the parking lot on the first week of school - went over to Junhong and grabbed him by the collar. He was choked out of class, smashed to a locker and trapped by a circle of well-built junior years.
"Time for a killing spree, killer," the blonde told, his face an inch away from Junhong's, breathe smelling like the tuna sandwich he had for lunch. "This time, you're the victim."
Punches were thrown and when Junhong fell to the floor, everyone joined in to give the 'killer' a kick. Crowds started coming over, chanting and laughing. "Killer. Killer. Killer."
"Come and give the killer the punishment he deserves!" the blonde called. Now everyone – most from the classes on the same floor, some from the upper and lower classes, those who got texts from their friends and those who followed out of curiosity – was coming over. Junhong saw Jongup. He didn't do anything. There was a sense of hurting in his eyes - like he didn't want this to happen, but he couldn't do anything. Jongup came to see if Junhong was still alive, and left wordlessly back to his class.
"You deserve this, killer," the blonde tattered at Junhong. He accepted it, but deep inside he knew he didn't deserve it. Soon, the chaos was ended by a teacher whose roar echoed through the hallways. Everyone went back to their classes, like animals going back to their nests. When the teacher saw the victim was Junhong, he helped the boy up and told him to walk it off.
"You know it'll never end. Just... wash up, walk it off."
Junhong looked at his reflection. There were more cuts than he had ever had at once. He felt numb. The same numb feeling he had felt before he met Jongup. The cold blood from his bleeding gums felt stale. It didn't matter. Nothing did. He'd rather die than think anything mattered.
The last bell rung. Junhong spat the blood in his mouth into the sink below him. When he walked out of the school gates, Jongup was there waiting for him.
"I almost thought you really were dead," he joked. Junhong ignored him. They started walking. "That's a lot of cuts. I don't have any plasters right now; wanna come over to my house? I got a whole stock there."
"Are you really my friend?" Junhong asked. Jongup looked up. Their footsteps slowed, the two looking at each other in the eyes. Junhong didn't keep the gaze and walked faster.
"What do you mean?" Jongup asked as he caught up with the younger.
"Do friends really let each other get hurt?" Junhong said it as if it wasn't the whole school who was bullying him. It sounded like a small thing, like Jongup stole the girl he had a crush on. Jongup didn't know what to say.
"It was out of my hands," he started. "You know I c--"
"Well look at what we have here."
The two turned around and saw the same jocks who lead today's 'killing spree' smirking at them. They froze as the juniors approached them. Blood drained out of Jongup's face. He was really dead now.
"The killer found a gay friend... How sweet," the blonde jeered. He towered at Jongup. "Getting chummy with the freshie, ey?"
Jongup didn't say anything. They didn't have to and things would still end up the same. The blonde pushed Jongup and he fell on his bottom. The blonde stepped on his chest, smudging the dirt all the way up to his face. "Well, a friend of a killer must be a killer too."
The blonde bent down and whispered, "You're gonna regret ever talking to him."
With that, the junior years walked away. One pushed Junhong, half-expecting him to fall but didn't do anything when the younger stood his stance. When they left, Junhong went to help Jongup up. The older wiped the dirt away with his sleeve. Wordless, they started walking.
When they reached the cross section, Junhong finally spoke up. "I'm sorry."
"Naah, it's not your fault," Jongup told as he turned his corner. "Plus, I don't do regrets. Not my thing."
*
The next
day, Junhong wasn't greeted with the usual "Hey killer" when he
entered the school building. Instead, just as he was about to pass the ground
floor washroom, a boy was pushed out, his whole head soaked, liquid dripping
from the ends of his auburn-brown hair. He looked up and met Junhong's eyes.
Jongup.
Everyone around laughed at the boy whose head got dunked into a toilet bowl. Jongup wasn't able to do anything before a tall boy from the washroom pushed him hard enough for him to land on the lockers by the hallway. The tall boy - a footballer, proud in his varsity, probably sophomore year - took notice of the killer's presence and sneered.
"Look who's here to save his boyfriend," he mocked. Junhong's eyes ran from the footballer to Jongup to the people around to the floor. For the first time, he felt flustered. Maybe it was the fact that someone else was involved, someone he cared about. And it was entirely his fault.
The footballer pulled Junhong by the collar and threw him next to Jongup. "You guys look good together," he told. Jongup tried to stand up, a strong will to go against the bully still burning in him. The footballer didn't let it burn. He washed off the flame with a punch across Jongup's cheek, his head hitting a lock. Jongup placed his fingers on the injured area, feeling a warm liquid gush out.
"Gays!" "They should kiss!" "Hey, I'll vote for you guys as Prom Gay Princes! Not!" they laughed and sneered. The footballer came to push the two's lips together, but they held strong. Soon, a teacher came out to see what all the ruckus was about, and the footballer managed to knock the two by the foreheads before walking away, as if nothing happened.
Seeing that the hallway silenced and everyone had rushed to their hall rooms, the teacher retreated back to his room. The two stood up and went to their respective hall rooms without a word. They knew things were going to get worse. And it did.
Everyone around laughed at the boy whose head got dunked into a toilet bowl. Jongup wasn't able to do anything before a tall boy from the washroom pushed him hard enough for him to land on the lockers by the hallway. The tall boy - a footballer, proud in his varsity, probably sophomore year - took notice of the killer's presence and sneered.
"Look who's here to save his boyfriend," he mocked. Junhong's eyes ran from the footballer to Jongup to the people around to the floor. For the first time, he felt flustered. Maybe it was the fact that someone else was involved, someone he cared about. And it was entirely his fault.
The footballer pulled Junhong by the collar and threw him next to Jongup. "You guys look good together," he told. Jongup tried to stand up, a strong will to go against the bully still burning in him. The footballer didn't let it burn. He washed off the flame with a punch across Jongup's cheek, his head hitting a lock. Jongup placed his fingers on the injured area, feeling a warm liquid gush out.
"Gays!" "They should kiss!" "Hey, I'll vote for you guys as Prom Gay Princes! Not!" they laughed and sneered. The footballer came to push the two's lips together, but they held strong. Soon, a teacher came out to see what all the ruckus was about, and the footballer managed to knock the two by the foreheads before walking away, as if nothing happened.
Seeing that the hallway silenced and everyone had rushed to their hall rooms, the teacher retreated back to his room. The two stood up and went to their respective hall rooms without a word. They knew things were going to get worse. And it did.
Jongup's cut
needed five stitches. His friends started isolating him; moving tables whenever
he came to theirs at recess, pretending he didn't ask for the answer of that
equation in Algebra. And Junhong's nicknames grew from 'killer' to 'fag'. Other
than that, the bullying was just as bad as they had been.
"First, you kill. Then you become a homo. What a waste of life."
Then take it. Please. These words ran through Junhong's mind every time those boys came to him and grabbed him at the strands of hair on top of his head, but he never spoke them. He never said what was in his mind, even before, but this time he had a reason not to. He can't die. If he died, Jongup would be alone.
They tried to not see each other, or else the bullying would be worse. Jongup rarely gets bullied, just left to suffer the glares and whispers whenever he walked by alone. They wouldn't meet at the back gate; instead whoever came earlier would just walk first, slowly, hoping the other would catch up when they were at a safe radius away from school. Whenever they see each other, they would smile. They couldn't smile any other time of the day, and the only time they were happy was when they had each other. So wordless, they would walk home together until they reach the cross road, smiling, waving goodbye, hoping they would be stronger for tomorrow. At least Junhong wasn't alone anymore. Even if it hurt him, at least he had Jongup.
"Hey, you free tonight?" Jongup asked one day.
"Naah, I gotta clip my nails then I have a date with my bed," Junhong replied, the sarcasm hidden well.
"Funny," Jongup smiled. Junhong laughed at his own humour. "Dude, seriously. Come over tonight. Wanna show you something."
Junhong rarely goes over to Jongup's house. Never at night. Although it wasn't hard for him to sneak out - he always went out for a walk before he met Jongup, muttering depressing curses to himself - he was still considering whether he really wanted to.
"Just... don't do anything to me," Junhong told. Jongup laughed.
"Beware, I'm gonna kill the killer in his sleep," Jongup sneered. Junhong didn't mean it that way, but he thought better than to tell the elder what he was actually thinking about. They reached the cross section and Jongup waved slightly.
"See you tonight, fag."
"Later, homo!"
"First, you kill. Then you become a homo. What a waste of life."
Then take it. Please. These words ran through Junhong's mind every time those boys came to him and grabbed him at the strands of hair on top of his head, but he never spoke them. He never said what was in his mind, even before, but this time he had a reason not to. He can't die. If he died, Jongup would be alone.
They tried to not see each other, or else the bullying would be worse. Jongup rarely gets bullied, just left to suffer the glares and whispers whenever he walked by alone. They wouldn't meet at the back gate; instead whoever came earlier would just walk first, slowly, hoping the other would catch up when they were at a safe radius away from school. Whenever they see each other, they would smile. They couldn't smile any other time of the day, and the only time they were happy was when they had each other. So wordless, they would walk home together until they reach the cross road, smiling, waving goodbye, hoping they would be stronger for tomorrow. At least Junhong wasn't alone anymore. Even if it hurt him, at least he had Jongup.
"Hey, you free tonight?" Jongup asked one day.
"Naah, I gotta clip my nails then I have a date with my bed," Junhong replied, the sarcasm hidden well.
"Funny," Jongup smiled. Junhong laughed at his own humour. "Dude, seriously. Come over tonight. Wanna show you something."
Junhong rarely goes over to Jongup's house. Never at night. Although it wasn't hard for him to sneak out - he always went out for a walk before he met Jongup, muttering depressing curses to himself - he was still considering whether he really wanted to.
"Just... don't do anything to me," Junhong told. Jongup laughed.
"Beware, I'm gonna kill the killer in his sleep," Jongup sneered. Junhong didn't mean it that way, but he thought better than to tell the elder what he was actually thinking about. They reached the cross section and Jongup waved slightly.
"See you tonight, fag."
"Later, homo!"
*
The stale
smell of iron ran through Jongup's nostrils, so strong that his waken eyes
flickered open, curious of his surroundings. He lifted his head off the table
surface he laid on, his body on a chair by its side. He looked around, feeling
the humidity, sticky on his face. He was in his basement. Unrecognizable bodies
laid on the floor, ripped open at the abdomen, random broken things surrounding
them like trash piles, dark red liquid splattered across the dark walls.
Jongup's eyes ran across the room back and forth in fear. He started counting
the bloody bodies. One, two, five, ten... how many were there exactly? He can't
tell.
What happened?
Most of the few light bulbs were smashed, leaving only one lit, a standing figure underneath it, something long and sharp in his hand.
Junhong?
"Junhong?" Jongup's lips were numb, saying the words in his mind a second slower.
"You're awake."
What the... "What the fuck happened?! What did you do?!" Jongup stood up, the fear creeping to his heart, beating faster. His body feels weak to do anything, though.
"You mean what did we do." Junhong turned around, a smirk on his face. What?
"Wh-what?"
"Jongup?"
"I didn't do anything..."
"Jongup wake up! Jongup?"
Jongup's eyelids separated. A coffin came to sight, Junhong's picture standing in a frame on top of it. He looked around. He was in a church, the seats half full, most of them from Junhong's orphanage, forced to fit into suits and pretty dresses to pay respect to someone they barely knew. Jongup's parents were by his side. In the background the sermon was mumbling about the Lord and heaven.
"You okay honey? Still can't sleep at night?" Jongup's mother asked, concerned. Lately Jongup hadn't been able to sleep, nightmares creeping into his dreams every night. That knife. Those bodies. The blood. But last night he actually found a cure. He doesn't know if he should be taking it though... not at these circumstances. Not when Junhong died because of it.
No. Junhong didn't die because of the drugs. He died because of Jongup.
Jongup went to school with eye bags, rubbing the dreams away with his fingers. He was greeted with stares. Everyone had heard of Junhong. He ignored the whispers. The blonde junior footballer approached Jongup, apologetical eyes kept on the floor. "Man, sorry bout Killer."
Jongup looked straight into his eyes, sharp with suppressed anger. "You never learned his name, did you?"
"Well I never thought he'd die..."
"Well Choi Junhong did," Jongup replied, the anger mixing around in his body with the feeling of guilt. "And we all killed him. We're all killers."
"We must be killers."
No. I didn't do any of this. The blood is on Junhong's hands. I fell asleep and suddenly...suddenly...
"Junhong? Are you okay?"
Junhong's left forearm was in a puddle of his own blood, some still flowing out of the cuts. It read 'KILLER', rough and deep. His right hand held a knife about five inches long. Junhong's head laid on his right upper arm, his eyes resting on the bloody word.
"Do you see all these people, Jongup? Do you see what we did?" Junhong said in a hushed voice, his life at the end of its line. His face was paler than ever, his blue lips moving slowly. "We must be killers. We killed all of them..."
Jongup did see the bodies. But he passed out again, waking up with a more sober mind. Less drugged. It wore off him faster. Must be because he was controlling the urge. He's just glad he woke up in time to see Junhong still alive in front of him. He needed to hear his last words.
Junhong on the other hand never got sleep. He took more and more in boredom as his partner dozed off, addiction towards the taste taking over him fast, the fleeting feeling of the world dissolving under his feet taking him away. He was immortal. His father could do it. So can he. He could kill everyone, and he would still smile. See? ‘KILLER’. He could rip his arm apart and he's still alive. That was how powerful he was.
But… he feels weak now? Jongup. He has to share this power. His friend. His family. The only one he loved. He walked weakly towards the table Jongup laid asleep, heart throbbing in his chest, hands shakily grabbing a chair to sit on. His warm fingertips - no, it's gotten cold suddenly - touched Jongup's hands, staining it with a bit of blood. Jongup? Wake up. Let's kill together...
"Junhong, just let it go happily, okay?" Jongup whispered to him. "You had a friend. I love you. Your life wasn't sad. It was filled with happiness."
"Jongup..." Junhong said hazily. "Let's leave together... I don't want to be alone..."
"I- I can't." Jongup told. "You won't be alone there. You have your mom. Don't worry bout it."
"Wha... what about you?" Junhong asked, using his last few breathes to pull in the energy and frowned. "You... you don't have anyone."
"I'll be fine," Jongup reassured, pulling a smile. "Now stop talking. Relax."
Jongup closed Junhong's tired eyelids, watching his breathing slow down.
"Jongup..." Junhong whispered, the words barely coming out, his cold lips frozen. "Thank you."
That was what Junhong wanted. He wanted it to end. He never told Jongup, but Jongup knew. He couldn't take his own life though. He needed help. That's what Jongup gave him - a little boost.
"We all killed him," Jongup mumbled, reassuring himself those words were true. Maybe it was. Not technically, but they were all a reason.
We all know how to fake it.
We all know what we've done.
Jongup's mind flickered an image of him putting that knife under that table. His thoughts came back to the white board in front of him. A few sentences made out of scientific terms strung together, making no sense to Jongup's dented mind. Another image came. Both Junhong and him were laughing for no apparent reason on the floor of his basement, a plastic bag weighing about 5 grams still filled with white powder. Junhong took in some more. The still somewhat sober Jongup watched, a feeling of guilt twisting and bending deep in his stomach. His eyes took attention of the knife waiting under the table.
It won't be long.
Jongup's eyes opened. He dozed off on the backseat of a car, his parents in the seats in front of him, piles of boxes and backs behind. They were moving. This was the reason. He will find a new life somewhere else, leaving Junhong. It was better that he was now six feet underground, rather than in that school, losing more blood.
Although it was ironic that Junhong died because of it - loss of blood. They took it as suicide, not questioning the high levels of cocaine in Junhong's body, seeing that Jongup's parents put money into pockets to let him go. But maybe Junhong was already dead. Jongup kept him alive. But it was no use anymore.
The car passed by the graveyard Junhong was now resting in. Jongup tried to catch sight of Junhong's headstone - he remembered it was somewhere near the gates - but the car passed by too fast. Maybe it was better that way. This will all be the past. It'll be an old story told by the elementary students to their new friends in high school. At one point it will all just be a story to scare them. A killer ironically getting killed by his friend who disappeared a week after he did. They say the friend comes back to the killer's graveyard at night. Do you dare make a visit?
But to Jongup, it was just a dream.
He looked to his side where his backpack laid, and unzipped the front flyer. He glanced at his parents - his mother was babbling something about the moving services, while his father was pretending to listen, his mind completely elsewhere - before taking out a plastic bag, still half filled with what killed Junhong. Jongup rolled down his window and held out the plastic at one corner. He watched the white powder float away in an uneven line, disappearing into the air. When the plastic was empty, he let it go and rolled the window back up, turning to the front.
What happened?
Most of the few light bulbs were smashed, leaving only one lit, a standing figure underneath it, something long and sharp in his hand.
Junhong?
"Junhong?" Jongup's lips were numb, saying the words in his mind a second slower.
"You're awake."
What the... "What the fuck happened?! What did you do?!" Jongup stood up, the fear creeping to his heart, beating faster. His body feels weak to do anything, though.
"You mean what did we do." Junhong turned around, a smirk on his face. What?
"Wh-what?"
"Jongup?"
"I didn't do anything..."
"Jongup wake up! Jongup?"
Jongup's eyelids separated. A coffin came to sight, Junhong's picture standing in a frame on top of it. He looked around. He was in a church, the seats half full, most of them from Junhong's orphanage, forced to fit into suits and pretty dresses to pay respect to someone they barely knew. Jongup's parents were by his side. In the background the sermon was mumbling about the Lord and heaven.
"You okay honey? Still can't sleep at night?" Jongup's mother asked, concerned. Lately Jongup hadn't been able to sleep, nightmares creeping into his dreams every night. That knife. Those bodies. The blood. But last night he actually found a cure. He doesn't know if he should be taking it though... not at these circumstances. Not when Junhong died because of it.
No. Junhong didn't die because of the drugs. He died because of Jongup.
Jongup went to school with eye bags, rubbing the dreams away with his fingers. He was greeted with stares. Everyone had heard of Junhong. He ignored the whispers. The blonde junior footballer approached Jongup, apologetical eyes kept on the floor. "Man, sorry bout Killer."
Jongup looked straight into his eyes, sharp with suppressed anger. "You never learned his name, did you?"
"Well I never thought he'd die..."
"Well Choi Junhong did," Jongup replied, the anger mixing around in his body with the feeling of guilt. "And we all killed him. We're all killers."
"We must be killers."
No. I didn't do any of this. The blood is on Junhong's hands. I fell asleep and suddenly...suddenly...
"Junhong? Are you okay?"
Junhong's left forearm was in a puddle of his own blood, some still flowing out of the cuts. It read 'KILLER', rough and deep. His right hand held a knife about five inches long. Junhong's head laid on his right upper arm, his eyes resting on the bloody word.
"Do you see all these people, Jongup? Do you see what we did?" Junhong said in a hushed voice, his life at the end of its line. His face was paler than ever, his blue lips moving slowly. "We must be killers. We killed all of them..."
Jongup did see the bodies. But he passed out again, waking up with a more sober mind. Less drugged. It wore off him faster. Must be because he was controlling the urge. He's just glad he woke up in time to see Junhong still alive in front of him. He needed to hear his last words.
Junhong on the other hand never got sleep. He took more and more in boredom as his partner dozed off, addiction towards the taste taking over him fast, the fleeting feeling of the world dissolving under his feet taking him away. He was immortal. His father could do it. So can he. He could kill everyone, and he would still smile. See? ‘KILLER’. He could rip his arm apart and he's still alive. That was how powerful he was.
But… he feels weak now? Jongup. He has to share this power. His friend. His family. The only one he loved. He walked weakly towards the table Jongup laid asleep, heart throbbing in his chest, hands shakily grabbing a chair to sit on. His warm fingertips - no, it's gotten cold suddenly - touched Jongup's hands, staining it with a bit of blood. Jongup? Wake up. Let's kill together...
"Junhong, just let it go happily, okay?" Jongup whispered to him. "You had a friend. I love you. Your life wasn't sad. It was filled with happiness."
"Jongup..." Junhong said hazily. "Let's leave together... I don't want to be alone..."
"I- I can't." Jongup told. "You won't be alone there. You have your mom. Don't worry bout it."
"Wha... what about you?" Junhong asked, using his last few breathes to pull in the energy and frowned. "You... you don't have anyone."
"I'll be fine," Jongup reassured, pulling a smile. "Now stop talking. Relax."
Jongup closed Junhong's tired eyelids, watching his breathing slow down.
"Jongup..." Junhong whispered, the words barely coming out, his cold lips frozen. "Thank you."
That was what Junhong wanted. He wanted it to end. He never told Jongup, but Jongup knew. He couldn't take his own life though. He needed help. That's what Jongup gave him - a little boost.
"We all killed him," Jongup mumbled, reassuring himself those words were true. Maybe it was. Not technically, but they were all a reason.
We all know how to fake it.
We all know what we've done.
Jongup's mind flickered an image of him putting that knife under that table. His thoughts came back to the white board in front of him. A few sentences made out of scientific terms strung together, making no sense to Jongup's dented mind. Another image came. Both Junhong and him were laughing for no apparent reason on the floor of his basement, a plastic bag weighing about 5 grams still filled with white powder. Junhong took in some more. The still somewhat sober Jongup watched, a feeling of guilt twisting and bending deep in his stomach. His eyes took attention of the knife waiting under the table.
It won't be long.
Jongup's eyes opened. He dozed off on the backseat of a car, his parents in the seats in front of him, piles of boxes and backs behind. They were moving. This was the reason. He will find a new life somewhere else, leaving Junhong. It was better that he was now six feet underground, rather than in that school, losing more blood.
Although it was ironic that Junhong died because of it - loss of blood. They took it as suicide, not questioning the high levels of cocaine in Junhong's body, seeing that Jongup's parents put money into pockets to let him go. But maybe Junhong was already dead. Jongup kept him alive. But it was no use anymore.
The car passed by the graveyard Junhong was now resting in. Jongup tried to catch sight of Junhong's headstone - he remembered it was somewhere near the gates - but the car passed by too fast. Maybe it was better that way. This will all be the past. It'll be an old story told by the elementary students to their new friends in high school. At one point it will all just be a story to scare them. A killer ironically getting killed by his friend who disappeared a week after he did. They say the friend comes back to the killer's graveyard at night. Do you dare make a visit?
But to Jongup, it was just a dream.
He looked to his side where his backpack laid, and unzipped the front flyer. He glanced at his parents - his mother was babbling something about the moving services, while his father was pretending to listen, his mind completely elsewhere - before taking out a plastic bag, still half filled with what killed Junhong. Jongup rolled down his window and held out the plastic at one corner. He watched the white powder float away in an uneven line, disappearing into the air. When the plastic was empty, he let it go and rolled the window back up, turning to the front.
Time to move
on from this nightmare.
Labels: death, fan-fiction, murder, violence
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