The boy wiped the sweat dripping down the side of his forehead, his steps long, trying to catch up without tripping on tree roots of the forest. Three others followed behind him, while a girl with long dark blonde hair lead up front, almost leaping across the forest ground as she avoided roots and mud and ants nests as if she had memorised the floor plan. She only glanced back a bit, pausing for a few seconds to let her friends catch up before starting again. The boy at the end of the line scrunched his eyebrows at the top of his nose in frustration.
"We'll be there soon enough, come on," the girl ahead replied.
"Will, you're not much slower than her," a girl with jet black hair and a nose ring called from behind. "It's really getting on my self esteem."
"Your constant refusal to join me at the gym calls for it," Will replied, smirking while wiping his blond hair back. "Hey Ella, break time," he called at the girl further up. She glanced back, rolled her eyes and stopped in her tracks, crossing her arms.
"I'm not into putting myself through voluntary pain," Lorenza told.
"Can we not talk about working out right now?" the girl just behind Will asked. She was two feet shorter than him with glasses slipping down her nose bridge, and just as much sweat as Will but refused to slow down - she'd rather not be left behind. "Ella, can we please know where you're bringing us? Maybe we'll be a bit more excited about this."
"We would have found out by now if you guys wouldn't be such babies about this," she replied from afar. "Literally, we're a minute away."
"I better not be disappointed," the other boy, standing at about Lorenza's height, said in a low voice as he passed the other three, wanting to get a head start. He had dark skin and curls at the top of his head, his temper holding up only until now.
"Chill out, Chad," Will patted the guy on the back before he followed along.
"Come on, Hedy," Lorenza said as she passed the girl with glasses. Hedy gave a deep sigh. At the back of the line, as expected, she thought to herself.
Not far from where they had stopped, Ella turned to look at the team. She gave a grin, holding her arms out at the clearing. The patch contrasted to the rest of the forest, in which the trees had turned into stumps and roots into bumpy soils, leaves gathered into patches randomly. On top of one of the stumps lay a shovel and gardening gloves. "You will never guess what lies beneath these soils."
"Dead bodies?" Will joked without smiling.
"Actually, you're spot on."
The rest of the group went silent. Lorenza spoke up first.
"Are you... serious?"
"Yes, I am," Ella grinned as she reached for the shovel and started digging at one of the what seemed like random bumps of soil, but now resembles graves to the group, with the patches or leaves cleverly disguised as headstones.
"You're really creeping me out, Ella," Hedy announced as she hugged her own torso in discomfort.
"It's like what we talked about, guys," she told in between breaths. "The world isn't going to make anymore sense if we keep letting idiots lead us. We have to do something about it, and where do we start? Right at home, of course." She stopped digging, wiping at her forehead. She then reached down to dust off some of the soil, then pulled out a detached head by the hair from the ground. Hedy gave a half-screech half-gasp, but stopped herself, closing her mouth with her hands.
"What the fuck?" Chad shouted. "Is that... Principal Gully?"
"Yea that idiot of a principal we have. Shouldn't have suspended me for writing a paper on how the government was spending too much on military. Sucks to be him."
"Ella you not only insulted the president but also the entire office for a class taught by a proud Republican. It was called for," Lorenza tried to reason. It seemed useless now though, since the principal didn't even have a drop of blood in his brain anymore. "Is there... more of these?"
"Well the principal and Ms. Shrewder, that proud Republican is a good start, but next, the president, then, the world, of course."
"Ella you're fucking insane," Chad said in a shaky voice. "We can't go around killing people for the small stupid decisions they make."
"Oh, yea, we're not gonna kill every single idiot out there, well not yet," Ella explained as she waved the head around with pride. "We start at the top then we work our way down. See how easy it is to get to the principal? With a few more practice killings we might as well book for a flight to DC now."
"I'm getting the fuck out of here," Chad announced, pacing towards the way they came from.
"Not so fast," Ella said calmly, pulling a pistol out of her jacket pocket, pointing at Hedy. "You go and this girl dies."
"Bullshit," Chad called. Ella pulled at the trigger, and Hedy screamed as a bullet shot through her thighs. Chad stopped in his tracks, and Lorenza went to catch the girl as she dropped to her knees, both trying to stop the blood from flowing out.
"Anything else you're gonna call out as bullshit?" Ella asked. She tossed the head at Will, letting him see it up close. "As you can see, I'm not about bullshitting."
Will had a good look at the principal's wrinkled face - his thin lips were curved downwards, slightly parted, his eyelids revealed the maggots underneath already starting to feast on his eyeballs. The boy dropped the head at the sight of the maggots, almost bursting into tears out of fear and disgust.
"Ella, it was all talk, okay?" Lorenza said, her voice a mixture of fear and calm. "We didn't really think of killing anyone. We can stop this right now. Killing is wrong, especially when they didn't do anything to deserve to die. We won't be able to get away with it anyway. We're just five high school kids."
"I didn't think of you as the cowardly type, Lorenza," Ella sighed. "I gotta say, I'm disappointed."
"It's not about being brave, it's about doing the right-"
Another bullet went through Lorenza's forehead, in between her eyes. Hedy screamed again as the body next to her turned limp. Tears started to form as she sobbed. The two boys shook in their places as they glared at Ella in fear. The girl looked away, her hands shaking. Despite being the new girl in town, Lorenza had been the one who let Ella into her circle. For once in her five years of switching schools every few months, Ella felt like she belonged somewhere. Why did Lorenza had to defy her like this? Why couldn't she just accept who Ella was for who she is?
"Bitch was the one who said Principal Gully deserved to die."
Two black shadows formed on the black tar road of an alleyway. The bodies faced each other, both standing straight, their eyes at the same height, fighting to loom against the other. One was steady - his hair was cropped short and black, his body dirty but comfortable enough. His hands rested by his sides, only his facial expressions playing a role in movement. At first he was surprised when a sudden click was heard from behind him. Then a smirk formed on his face as he turned around, smelling the familiar scent of medicated soap - the smell of The Wires, right after one had been brainwashed. Then his confidence changed to disappointment.
The angular face that hid behind a mass of blond hair was once dirty like his, but now it was white and cleaned out, a set of blue eyes renewing his soul. His clothes was not torn as it was when the man last saw him. One hand held a pistol, shaking as he pointed it at the other. His face revealed his anxiety, his eyes twitching as he struggles to control the way he thought and acted. His stance was strong though, worried that if he shifted the other would take the opportunity to kill him off. He was not gonna let that happen. But he was not sure if he will kill the other, neither.
"I'm disappointed," the unarmed told. And he was; he could not hide it from the way his smile turned down and his eyebrows arched. "I thought you were stronger."
"You don't understand, Yongguk," the blond told, his voice shaking. He spoke what he believed in; or at least what he thinks he believes in. Everything seemed very vague now. What was going on? Who is this guy? He knows who this man is, but he was not sure if he knew him anymore. "The Wires don't take away your soul - they give you true ones. Ones that... That makes you clean. Pure. Don't you want to be pure, Yongguk?"
"Bullshit," Yongguk replied. The other gulped. "And you know it, Himchan. You're in there, somewhere, I know you are. Come back and see what real purity is. Killing children isn't pure. Tearing apart families isn't pure. Taking people's souls away isn't fucking pure. You've heard this a million times over and you know it. The Wires is a conspiracy. And they're pulling their strings on you... Shit, I should've never let you go alone."
Was what he said true? Himchan involuntarily pushed away the thought. "I'm glad you let me go alone. Th-they took me and cared for me and gave me love... Th-that's all you need, Yongguk, love. And you'll see that all of this is nothing but rubbish."
"Love?" Yongguk smirked sadly. "Love. Damn it Himchan. I gave you love but you never took it. And now you're taking it from The Wires? Well fuck you."
Himchan's grasp in the pistol's grip tightened. His other hand curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palms. The pain in his chest bled through his loud thoughts. His eyes throbbed, letting clear liquid drop down his cheeks. He bit his lower lip, trying to control his shaking. He did not want to think anymore. It hurt too much. He knew what was right but his body was tied and it did not move as he wished. His arms and legs felt numb from the thin threads that held them together, keeping them in tact. He traced the cold, metal trigger with his index finger. "I'm sorry."
Yongguk's eyes widen at the sight of the tear, reflecting in the low light. The next thing he knew, two gunshots were heard. Two sharp, cold pieces of metal pierced through his chest. It punctured his lung and he felt the blood rushing into his throat, making him choke and cough. He held his chest as he coughed red liquid onto the black ground below him, drops splattering onto his shoes. He looked up shakily at the blond. Himchan fell on his knees, the barrel of the pistol now on his temple. He sobbed, watching the one person he truly loved die. Yongguk's sight blurred, his body falling on its back as his breathing ceased, the muscles of his body worn out. But before he exhaled his last bloody breath, he heard another gunshot and smirked.
"Are you done?" the man in a black suit, complete with a black tie and black leather loafers asked the taller. The past twenty minutes they had been floating on a boat, the liquid below them reflecting a shade of red. And in that twenty minutes the taller boy had been talking non-stop. About his family, his friends, his life. He was not satisfied with anything. Everything he had was not enough. People had never thought of his feelings while he had always thought of others. He complained and complained and mentioned umpteen times on how he had kept everything to himself selflessly.
"Excuse me?" the boy asked, not very happy he was interrupted. But the man had not spoke at all throughout. He only nodded and kept looking out at the red skies, as if waiting for something to happen. Now their boat had floated itself onto an island, where the sand was vacant and the only thing that could lead to anything was a wooden staircase. It went up to a wall, which the trees had covered over the rest of the building, making it impossible to see how talk or wide it really was.
"We have arrived," the man told, his voice rasp and low. He stepped out of the boat and walked towards the staircase with calm steps. The boy tripped over his steps as he followed behind, not sure which question to ask first - where are they? Where are they going? What happened to him? Who is this man in black?
"I'm sorry but where are we again?"
"Did you not wonder about that earlier?" the man stopped in his steps, halfway up the stairs to turn around. He raised an eyebrow at the boy who backed up on his steps.
"I-"
"You died. We are going to your afterlife. And I am not someone you wished you have met."
"I... Died?"
"If you are done with listing down your life tragedies and grasped on the idea of being dead, shall we proceed?"
The boy's eyes ran through the sand, unsure where it should land. He tried breathing. It felt normal. It felt like his heart was beating. How could he have died? Maybe he had breathed unconsciously before that he could not even tell when he's actually not breathing?
The man rolled his eyes and stepped up the rest of the staircase, waiting by the knobless door for the bout, his arms crossed across his chest. He watched the boy's mouth gape in uncertainty, his eyes blinking wildly. Finally, his sight landed on the man in black and he realized someone was waiting for him. He quickened his steps and jumped the planks of the staircase, two at a time.
The man uncrossed his arms and placed his left palm on the door, but the boy held it, stopping him from opening it open. "I'm dead. Are you sure?"
"It depends," the man told him. "If you decided that you are alive in this life, then you are alive. And I believe you have already made that choice."
The boy was not sure what to say. The man took the boy's hand by the wrist and removed it from his other hand. He pushed the door, the edges glowing with a white light from the other side. He stopped halfway before he turned back to the boy, his gaze softening.
"Whatever happened in your past life, it is best to let it go. It does not matter anymore. You will be happier here."
The boy opened his mouth to say something, but he was not sure what that would be. So the man gave the door another push before it opened wide, blinding the boy with light as hot as the sun's fire and a glow that passed through his eyelids as if they were nothing but mere thin cloth. The boy felt moisture in his sockets, and the liquid passed through his lids just as the light softened. He separated them, and he saw the ceiling of his bedroom.
The white light from the small crack of the only
window in the underground room woke Youngjae from his slumber, his eyelids
fluttering. His eyebrows scrunched on his forehead as he raised his body from
the floor. The dirty sheets that kept him warm that night fell against his lap,
dust floating in the air. The basement scented of iron and rotting food, but the
boy in a white t-shirt and shorts could only think of one person.
“Hana,” he whispered as his mind came back from his
dreams. He dreamt of him and Hana running and laughing on the beach, their feet
sinking in the soft sand below them as the sun sets. He pushed away the sheets
to see a girl beside him, her legs folded near her chest, her eyes shut. Her
chestnut hair fell over her face, only an oversized shirt clothing her.
“Wake up, Hana,” Youngjae shook the girl gently. Her
slanted eyes opened slowly, her pupils moving towards Youngjae.
“Go,” she told him before she pulled back the sheets
above her head.
“Do you want something for breakfast? Tea? I can’t
remember if we have anymore sugar though, but I’ll try to scrape whatever’s
left,” Youngjae asked, his eyes endearing.
“I’m not hungry.” Hana’s voice muffled through the
sheets.
“Yea, me neither,” Youngjae smiled. “Just being with
you keeps me alive.”
Hana did not answer. After awhile, she removed the
sheets and got up, her eyes looking straight into Youngjae’s. He took up
whatever energy he had left to caress Hana’s cheek with his thumb. He moved in
for a kiss, but the girl looked away.
“You can’t do this anymore.”
“I can’t leave you, Hana.”
“You need to stay alive.”
“I’m fine just being with you,” Youngjae reassured.
“No you’re not.”
Hana took Youngjae’s hand, raising it high so that he
can his wrist, where scars of when he placed a razor blade against it can be
seen, his bones protruding against a pale skin. Just then, the door on the
higher end of a staircase started thumping. Heavy fists knocked on the other
side, instructing Youngjae to open the door.
“Hana, you have to hide,” Youngjae whispered
frantically, fear in his eyes as he tried to pull the dirty sheets over Hana’s
head. The girl pushed him away, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“It’s over, Youngjae. This is only for your own good,”
she sobbed softly. Youngjae wrapped the sheets around her body. “You need to
stay alive.”
“Shh,” Youngjae told her, holding her tight in his
arms. “I’m here, don’t worry. Shh.”
The metal hinges flew apart as the door fell down the
stairs. Figures came over to Youngjae to take him away, unraveling his grasps
from the bloody corpse of his lover he had wrapped with the sheets.
“No, Hana!”
Youngjae screamed as the men pulled his arms. “Hana! Don’t take me away from
her!!!”
I twirled the white rose's stem in my hand, smiling to myself as I take slow steps towards my destination. I was wearing a cream coloured sleeveless dress that reached slightly above my knee, a black ribbon tied at my waist. My brown purse was slung against my right shoulder. I may look silly with my eyes lost in my own dreams, wandering about as my thoughts floated only about Baro.
He told me, as he gave me this single stem, that legend says if I bring a white rose to the neighbourhood's church garden, it will turn red in the presence of your beloved one. And if not, it will wilt with time. I'm not sure if its true but knowing Baro, he would do anything to make it happen. Thinking of this trait of his made me smile to myself again, so I quicken my steps to avoid stares. I can't wait to see him anyway.
As I placed my foot through the back entrance of the garden, I took a admiring glance at the view. The garden was full of colours - carpeted with green grass, greener than I've ever seen anywhere else. Flowers bloomed everywhere in the form of bushes, along with small pots of various known ones like sunflowers and orchids edging them. In one corner there was a table with a few stools along its sides and at the sides of the garden near the bushes were long benches. I went towards it and took a seat.
I stared back at my white rose. It didn't turn red, but it didn't wilt neither. Probably the legend was wrong. I looked around to see if Baro had left any hints that he was here. There was no one - just me. Suddenly the wooden door that acted as the entrance opened and closed by itself. I felt eerie and the hair behind my neck stood, but I took that it was just the wind.
I'm here!
Where is he?
Bomi? I'm here. Bomi? Can't you see me?
After what felt like hours, I sighed. He stood me up. He lied to me. I felt tears prickling and gathering at my lids, but I refused to let it fall. I started towards the door.
Bomi! I'm here! Right in front of you! Why...?
I swung open the wooden entrance but then I felt a tug at my right wrist behind me. I looked back and see the rose that was still in my hand. It was red.
The tears I tried to stop finally fell and my fingers let the red rose slip. Why? How could it have turned red?
Because I'm here. But not me. My soul.
My eyes blurred from the tears and my vision started to make my mind go blur too. I left the garden - and the rose - and walked back home, avoiding myself from looking up. I couldn't let people see me cry. How pathetic.
I was about to cross a road when someone grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. I looked up and saw a boy with small, kind eyes smiling down at me. His smile seemed sincere, but with a hint of pity when he saw me. But he didn't ask questions.
"You were about to walk into an investigation scene," he told me, looking towards the road.
"Huh?" I followed his eyes, and saw something I didn't even notice was right in front of me. An ambulance had its red blinking lights on, but its siren was quiet. Various nurses and policemen gathered, asking questions towards a man who had guilt written all over his expression. He seemed frustrated. Somewhere further up the road was a minivan, its wheels trailing up a line of blood on the road. People gathered and left, shaking their heads at the scene. Just before the nurses wrapped the victim's body with a white cloth, I got a glance of his face.
Baro.
I cupped my mouth, feeling the urge to scream. My feet moved by itself towards the scene. The boy tried to stop me again, but I pushed away his hands. The nurses looked at me curiously as I moved pass them and towards the body. The policemen were about to stop me but I had already slipped my hands at the white cloth and revealed his face. It had blood streaming down his soft cheeks, now pale and cold. His round nose. His hair that was in a mess, just the way it was the first time I met him at an inter-school football match. I fell on my knees, sobbing loudly. Baro was there. He was my beloved one.
A couple of days after, they had his funeral at the church we were supposed to meet. I attended it with a strong heart. I hadn't cried since that night. But when they went to bury his body I decided to stay behind. Instead, I went to the garden to look for my rose.
It was there, untouched on the grass floor. I observed its condition as I picked it up. It had wilted, petals dark at its edges and the stem thin of dehydration. But I wasn't sure if it was because of nature itself or if it was because Baro had left the garden, leaving me to move on without him.
"I have a disease," she told me plainly. "Probably, you've never heard of it. It's a mental disorder where I hear things. I see things. Things that don't exist. And they tell me things... truths no one bothered to see."
We were two of the few. The few broken ones. We broke, but we fixed each other. I love her. And I will stay with her till the end.
I gave her a hug. "I'll be with you. Don't worry about it."
---
We fled.
We finally did it. We left our lives for a better one. Although he promised sweet things, I had never trusted him one hundred percent. I know he will leave me. The voices said so too. But I won't leave him. I'll be prepared when he goes, but I won't leave him.
He's my only chance of surviving.
"Remember the first time we met?" he smirked, holding me tight around the waist, his chin on my should. The wind blew through out hair, the cold air sticky on our cheeks. I was relaxed. I had control over the broom. It's been awhile since.
"Wasn't long ago," I replied. "About five months?"
"Six," he said. "Six months, a week and four days."
"Why me?"
There was a silence. In that moment, I didn't feel so powerful anymore. The light and floating feeling on the broom felt slightly dragged by gravity. He held me tighter. I wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to fall or because he didn't want me to fall.
"There's no reason to fate," he whispered. "It happened. I was there. You were there. No reason."
"He's lying!"
"He's lying!"
"He's only using you!"
"He'll leave when he's done!"
"HE'S LYING!"
The voices deafened me, my ears started to ring, as if it was bleeding. I lost control of the broom, my grip on the stick slowly loosening. I heard him calling my name, but all I saw was a blur of lights against the dark night sky, the voices taking over my sense. Soon, my sight was pitch black, and all I hear was a high-pitched ring...
And his voice calling...
"Carmen!"
---
It wasn't easy finding shelter. I felt so stupid. I should've thought this through. Instead we just went without much money on us, and little care.
Thankfully we fell into a tree, although we did get a few scratches no bones were broken. The broom was forgotten as I slowly let her down first, although it was hard since she was passed out. I tried my best to not hurt her, but she did land with a thump. I jumped down and got her up, quick on my feet before anyone around the area woke up from the noise.
I found a bridge and got under it. It was clean enough to hang around for tonight. I washed her cuts and let her rest against the wall of the bridge, then I washed myself. Tired, I laid on her lap, looking up at her chin. She looks to tired. We both are. It must be harder for her. I cannot leave her. Never. I have to save her from those thoughts. I need to clear them away.
Soon, my eyes shut. By the time they opened, I felt a cold liquid drop on my cheek.
"I'm sorry."
I reached out for her face and cupped her cheeks, wiping away the transparent liquid. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"I'm s-sorry..." she sniffed, biting her lower lip. Then, letting go a huff of breath she closed her eyes, letting more tears run down her cheeks. She's... in pain?
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, not opening her eyes.
I got up, my eyes scanning through her face, then through her body. Then I saw red. Red liquid. Blood, all over her right hand, holding weakly onto a stone. Blood, all over her left forearms. Blood, all over my shirt and her dress.
I look at her face. Her eyes finally opened slightly, weak. "I don't think I can anymore... The thoughts are killing me... I would rather go myself..."
I shushed her, coming over to wrap her with my arms. I removed the stone from her grasp, and placed both hands together on her lap. She sniffed a bit more. "I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too." I rested my forehead on her head, smelling the scent of her hair. I didn't want to ever let her go. Slowly, the sniffing stopped and I felt that she found it hard to breath. She closed her eyes, the last tear running quick down her stained cheeks. Then I hear her last breath.
: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!"
*
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.
*
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."
*
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.
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!"
*
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 didwedo." 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.
There was once a small forest in my neighbourhood. Many adults forbid
their children from playing in it. All they told us was that ‘a big scary thing
was waiting in there to eat us’. So none of us kids ever dared to go inside. If
a ball was to have rolled into the forest, we would have to leave it be. It
does not exist anymore. Once, a friend of mine was bullied by a few boys and
her beloved doll was thrown into the forest. All she could do was cry. No one
dared to go and take it back – not even the grown ups.
I was six when a new girl moved into the house next to mine. She was
slightly eccentric – a lot smart-mouthed than most of us kids. I was her only
friend; and that is only because I cannot stand watching her play alone in her
backyard. My old friends started isolating me, but I did not mind. I had
Estrella – that was her name – with me.
One day, we were playing in the park near the forest. We were running
around with our dolls when suddenly Estrella stopped in her tracks, and just
stared off into the forest. Bushes surrounded its edge, it’s mid-height trees
seen not far away from us. The forest was thick, taking away our sight from
whatever was inside the forest. I shook Estrella a couple of times, confused as
to why she’s acting like this. She asked me, “Do you see it?”
“See what?” I asked, glancing into the forest. A spark caught my
attention. I frowned. Another spark appeared. Suddenly, a tiny figure, not more
than four inches tall appeared from behind a tree trunk. It’s skin glowed a
purple shade, its dress glittering white and its hair a thick purple bundle
tied into a bun on top of its head. It was hard to ignore the translucent wings
growing on her back too, fluttering to keep her afloat. Its eyes had no pupils.
It smiled at us, a playful smile.
“Hello,” it said in a soft, almost childish voice.
“Are you a fairy?” Estrella asked. I looked at her with a frantic look.
She should ot have responded. That creature came from the forest, and anything
from the forest is not safe, because the forest itself is not safe. But
obviously I could not say that in front of the creature itself.
The creature did not reply. It only giggled and waved us into the
forest, then disappeared behind another tree trunk. Full of curiosity, Estrella
started to walk towards the forest.
“Wait!” I exclaimed, stopping her in her tracks. “We’re not supposed to
play in the forest!”
“Says who?” Estrella asked, frowning.
“Says… everyone,” I told her. “My mom, my dad. Bella. Christina.” Those
were my old friends’ names.
“Well my parents never said so, so I’m going in,” she said stubbornly.
As she was about to pass through the bushes, she asked me, “Are you going to
stay here alone, Johanna?”
I bit my lip, hesitating. Estrella stepped further into the forest and
when she was out of sight, I panicked and ran after here. “Wait! Estrella,
wait!” I ran by the thick trees, franctically searching for Estrella. When I
found her, I ran and gave her arm a tug. She glanced at me then asked, “Where
did she go?”
We stood there in the forest, looking around for the creature. Suddenly,
sparks flew across our face. “Over here!” the creature’s voice called from
behind a tree on our right. We caught a short glimpse of her waving at us
before she disappears again. Curious of the creature, Estrella went on after
her. Not wanting to be left alone, I followed Estrella.
The game of hide and seek went on for awhile, until one point the forest
started clearing up and became less thick. The ground became greener and the
dirt below it less visible. At that point, the creature showed herself more
often, smiling at us playfully every time. Eventually we reached a clearing the
size of my backyard. There, a medium sized tree with a big thick trunk stood in
the middle – its leaves glistening blue-ish green, its branches strong and
thick. Among the branches was a tree house made of thick planks. It looked a
bit old and worn out, but it does not seem like it was going to collapse
anytime soon.
The creature flew above our heads towards the tree house and waved her
delicate arms at it. As if by magic, the tree started glowing with colours – so
many colours that you would have never imagined. The creature looked down at
us, proud of her work. Estrella asked, “So you really are a fairy?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” the creature told, flying towards us. “I’m much
too weak to be at any standards of a fairy. But I do love magic! Do you see
that house up there?”
The creature pointed at the tree house.
“That’s where I keep all my magic. Do you want to see more of what I can
do?”
“Oh yes!” Estrella exclaimed. “I would love to!”
The creature smiled. A spark glinted in her eyes that I have never seen
before, and suddenly I noticed that her teeth were rather sharp. The longer I looked
at her, the more chills I got at the back of my neck.
“Then come, dear!” the creature invited. Planks morphed onto the trunk
of the tree, creating stairs to climb up to the tree house. “Come and let’s see
how magic really happens.”
Estrella did not hesitate to climb uup the plank. “Are you coming,
Johanna?”
I did not want to see magic. I did not believe the creature, neither did
I like it very much. Not one bit, from her glittery dress to her bunned hair. But
I could not say so. So I just shook my head. The creature glared at me, and I swear
I saw red pupils forming in her eyes. I avoided looking at her and just kept
silent.
“Okay then,” Estrella shrugged, then continued her way up. The creature
flew with ease up to a window of the house while Estrella entered through a
hole at the bottom of the house. I looked around and started feeling scared. I was
the only one down here. I glanced up at the house and listened to Estrella’s
footsteps as she paced around.
“There isn’t much to see here,” I heard Estrella say, doubt in her
voice.
“You just haven’t seen the magic yet,” I heard the creature say. “Just,
relax and you’ll see it soon.”
“Hey, did you just grow taller?” You see a lot bigger than just now.”
“Don’t worry, Estrella. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“How did you know – wait, what are you doing?! Let go of me! Stop!!”
Those were the last words that I heard from Estrella. After that, she
only screamed.
I ran towards the tree and started climbing up the planks when suddenly I
felt a drop of cold liquid fall onto my forearm. I glanced at it and saw the thick
red blood streaming down towards gravity. I screamed and released my grip on
the planks. I started towards the forest, passing thick trees, frantically
searching for a wa out. When I saw a glimpse of light, I ran towards it. It was
when I heard a loud screech saying “YOU’RE NEVER LEAVING THIS FOREST” that I knew
that my life was at risk.
I ran as fast as I could, trampling over my own steps once in awhile,
but never looking back. When I finally reached the bushed that marked the edge
of the forest, I jumped over them and landed on my side. When I could finally
sit up, I glared at the forest. Nothing. I glanced at my arm and wiped off the
blood. Suddenly I heard the screech again, only weaker. When I looked up, the
creature had already disappeared.
Now, I am twenty years old. I am now in college, and I have come back
for the summer break. The incident that happened fourteen years ago still
haunts me in my dreams, the creature consistently changing from the innocent
fairy to a monster with sharp, bloody teeth, a sheet of cloth from Estrella’s
skirt stuck in between them. I never told anyone about what had happened. I just
said Estrella wanted to play a little longer so I left her alone at the park. Her
parents mourned at the fact that they never got their daughter back – no one
found a body, a clue, nothing. But it was better than knowing what had really
happened.
Now, I am standing along at the park where I last played with Estrella. I
face the forest with much courage. I know that Estrella was still somewhere in
the forest – lost, unable to find a way out. Even if she did, it would not
matter – she does not exist in our world anymore. I see the spark that had
caught Estrella’s attention in the first place. I am not scared or curious
though. I knew.
“I’m sorry, Estrella. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I whisper, hoping
that Estrella is listening. I look up and see that the spark had gone. The wind
blows strongly, shaking all the tress of the forest. It is not scary to me. Instead,
it is calming and assuring.
I remember entering the forest in the first place. That was a bad
decision to begin with, but seeing where Estrella is now, I know that refusing
the creature’s invitation was the best decision I had ever made.
[A/N : I wrote this for my English class. The question was to end the story with "it was the best decision I had eve made" so bare with the suck-ish ending, please and thank you ><]
Krystal was in the passenger’s seat of Taemin’s car when she
took out her compact powder from her purse and started checking her make-up. The
night was young and she wasn’t done having fun in the club yet – even if Sehun
decided not to join them. She decided her lipstick need some refurbishing, so
she took out her usual pinkish-red shade and reapplied. She checked her
reflection again through the rear mirror of the car and got a glimpse of a
shadow at the back seat.
A drip of blood streamed down from Sehun’s temple to his
cheeks as he stares at her blankly.
Krystal’s face was wet with sweat when she woke up on her
bed, her breathing quick and not stable. Her head filled with the image of
Sehun’s blank look. She shook it off, almost on the brink of letting her brain
flop out so that she will never remember that image again. It was just a bad dream, Krystal told herself.
She noticed it was still late at night. She glanced to her
side to see Sehun in deep sleep beside her. They were in Krystal’s apartment.
Krystal could barely remember what happened last night, but she trusted her
boyfriend. Nothing bad could ever happen – Sehun was responsible and
protective. He would never hurt Krystal. She went back to his side, feeling
safe. He moved a bit, but didn’t wake up. Krystal went back to sleep with a
smile – a nice dream of soft clouds and bright days where the grass looked
greener than usual accompanying her.
The next morning when Krystal woke up, the air filled with
the smell of blueberry pancakes. She looked beside her and Sehun wasn’t there.
The window was open, the bright sunlight coming through and lighted up her
room. The translucent curtains flew about aimlessly, bringing fresh air that brings
a smile to Krystal’s just-awoken face. She rubbed her eyes a bit and got up,
pushing her covers away. She glanced at the kitchen from the side of her
bedroom door. Sehun was in an apron, a t-shirt and boxers under it. He winced
at some burnt pancakes that he just placed on a plate stacked with similar
looking circulars. Krystal laughed a bit under her breath. She pulled on an
over-sized t-shirt before coming out to greet the boy.
“Burnt dough for breakfast?” Krystal teased.
“It’s the best I could do,” Sehun told, a small smirk
forming on the corner of his blank expression.
“Well I’d eat it all,” Krystal told, walking towards some cupboards
to take a fork.
“Please do,” Sehun said as he placed his hands on the
counter behind Krystal, cornering her from escape. She looked at him lazily,
and he smiled playfully as he lowers his head a little to place his lips on
hers. She kissed him back, pushing him back slightly. They made out a little
until Krystal sat Sehun on one of the chairs of the dining table. She went back
to the kitchen to pour some O.J. for the two of them.
“You taste like last night,” Sehun commented.
“What did we do last night anyway?” Krystal asked, sincerely
not remembering at all. Her head was blank – all she could remember was the bad
dream, mixed together with the smell of Sehun’s shirt and the green grass. She
took the two glasses of O.J. with one hand, expertly placing her fingers so
that it won’t slip from her grasp, and the other hand bringing the plate of
burnt pancakes with two forks on its edge. Then she walked towards the dining table,
appealed by how good her boyfriend looked with sunlight falling on the side of
his face from the window nearby.
“I don’t know, what do you think we did last night?” Sehun
smirked as he looked at Krystal, his eyes dropping from her eyes to the
pancakes. Krystal found that answer a bit odd. She was expecting something more
straight forward from Sehun. Something like “How can you not remember?” but it
slipped off her mind.
The two didn’t say much after that. Their right hands were
holding forks, cutting and popping a piece of the pancakes into their mouth.
Their left hands were on the table, trailing each other’s fingers. They only
let go when the other needed to take a sip of the orange drink. Then they’d
rejoin and start touching each other again.
“Well, you can still taste the blueberry,” Sehun commented
as Krystal finished off the last piece. Krystal only smiled and squeezed his left
hand a little. She didn’t just taste the blueberry – she also tasted a sense of
sincerity. And that was all that mattered.
“Where are we going
today?” Krystal asked, her sunglasses halfway down the bridge of her nose. Her
long straight hair flew softly when the slow wind blew it. She wore a loose
blouse, letting the hole for the head fall down her shoulders and sleeves
hanging on her elbows. Her denim shorts did little in covering her slim legs.
Beside her, Sehun wore a green shirt, the buttons carelessly done, showing the
wife beater under it. His cap was placed backwards, pushing his fringe back. He
held Krystal’s hands tightly as they walked down the street of her apartment
building.
“Nowhere,” he answered.
Krystal almost laughed. She held back a smile as she replied
“What a wonderful place to visit.”
“It is,” Sehun said, going further with the joke. “A place
with no care – I’d love to live there.”
“Then being with you is like being
nowhere.”
Sehun looked at his girlfriend,
and she looked back, smiling. “To not care. Not caring about anything else
other than you. That’s what it feels like.”
Sehun caressed Krystal’s face,
his thumb wiping her smooth cheeks. When he looked into Krystal’s eyes, she
felt a bit funny. The eyes didn’t seem as lazy as it usually does. Instead it
looked a bit sad. Slightly regretful. Her smile slowly faded away, but the two
kept walking down the street without saying a word, hand in hand. Even the
warmth of Sehun’s hands felt different.
“How’d you like the movie?” Sehun asked when they walked out
of the cinema. It was a romantic comedy, and every time it got to a soppy scene
Krystal would rest her head on Sehun’s broad shoulder. Once he turned over to
kiss her head. Krystal didn’t really concentrate on the movie, and they both
knew it.
“I like that part when you rested your head on mine,”
Krystal said bluntly.
“It wasn’t in the movie,” Sehun told, chuckling.
“Still my favourite part.”
“Wanna go back now?” Sehun asked as they ordered some frozen
yogurt for snacks.
“Sure, why not?” Krystal said. “Back to nowhere.”
“Do you know why humans only have one heart, on the left
side?” Krystal asked when they were in bed together, doing nothing but lying
down, staring at the blank ceiling. Their hands were clasped together, as
usual.
“No, why?” Sehun replied.
“So that when two hearts that beat together come closer, the
two would be one.” Krystal turned sideways, observing Sehun’s facial structures
– his high nose, his slanted eyes. He turned to look at hers – her wide eyes,
her sharp nose and pretty lips.
“I don’t get it.”
“Like this,” Krystal said, moving closer and wrapping her
arms around Sehun’s waist. He slung his around her. “Can you feel my heart
beat?”
“Slightly.”
“On your right chest, right? It beats together with yours,
on the left.”
Sehun didn’t tell Krystal that they didn’t beat together. His
was slightly off-track, beating a millisecond after hers.
“I just want to be close to you, Sehun.” Krystal told,
burying her face in his chest. Sehun jerked a little at the sound of his name.
He loosened his grip on Krystal, his hands slowly making its way to Krystal’s
face. He pushed it upwards, so that she would face him. Sehun’s eyes weren’t
slanted. It was wide and alive. His clean-cut dark brown hair was now replaced
with a slightly over-grown chestnut coloured hair, and his lips were plump and
his nose was round.
It wasn’t Sehun. It never was. It was Taemin.
Krystal pulled back, her heart dropping to her stomach. The
playful response to her question. The sad and regretful eyes. His hair looked
nice in the sunlight – because it was a chestnut shade, glowing. Tears formed a
layer on Krystal’s eye sockets as she remembered what they were doing
yesterday. They visited Sehun, Kai and Sulli’s graves. Then they went for a
drink and ended up passing out as they made out in bed. They were depressed and
lonely, even with each other’s company. They would have their good days, but
every night they would end up crying to sleep.
But today, Sehun came back. Only, it wasn’t Sehun. It was a
delusion. And it broke Krystal’s heart to know he’s never coming back for real.
“T-Taemin…” Krystal said as she started to sob. Taemin
shushed her gently, pulling her into his chest. He can’t help but tear up too.
Slowly, he had fallen for Krystal. But Krystal could never forget Sehun. All he
can do is protect Krystal, but he can’t even mend her broken soul.
Taemin pulled Krystal
closer as the sobbing became heavier. He didn’t say anything. Krystal
eventually slept – not because of Taemin’s protection, but because she sensed
Sehun hugging her from the back. He kept her safe, and their hearts beat
together as one.
