Hyukjae

                That thing inside the machine didn’t even resemble a human body anymore. If I had even had a remote feeling for that thing when it was a body, there was nothing now – it repulsed me, but at the same time I was struck with a sense of overwhelming sadness because a certain thought struck me like lightning it was so powerful. That thing couldn’t even be called a corpse. It was unrecognizable and otherworldly and if you said that it used to be a living person, or even if you were to say that it still is a body, I wouldn’t believe it. The thing that was inside that machine would soon be ashes and then what would it be? Remains? That just seems harsh to me, like somehow calling it remains and treating it like a sacred artifact never to be tainted is just absurd.

                That awful, alien thing. Most of it was gone, but what was left was the bright orange, flaming remains that crumbled without even touching it. Its head, still barely intact, with those cracks running everywhere that oozed the orange liquid created from the burning flame. Could something like that even be called a body? It was gross. It was revolting. It was so ing sad, and it was all my fault.

                The snow that I had brought in a hurry was starting to melt and I suddenly felt cold, like when a strong gust of wind blows right past you on a brisk day. I looked down and then I dropped the snow to the floor, it seemed like he didn’t need it anymore because he was already working to break up the collapsing bone. He did it without much thought from my perspective, but if I looked past all of the strong man image he was putting up, I would be able to see how fragile he really was. It was almost as though he and that thing were one and the same – about to break with the slightest of touches.

                “Can you bring me that urn over there?” He asked me and I nodded my head. I picked up the delicate object and gave it a quick glance before I set it on the metal trolley next to him and the machine.

                “So you found one.” I stated, somewhat dejected.

                “Yeah. We’ll need to somehow move this ash into there…oh, there’s a slot here!” He pointed out the thin slot that was closest to the door of the incinerator. It seemed to drop into a box underneath. He used the metal tool in his hands to bring all of the ash forwards and as I could hear the ash filling the box there was a crushing feeling that washed over my chest.

                I was bombarded with a crippling pain and I sank to my knees on the floor, holding onto the trolley for support even though it wasn’t of much help. I bit my lip and I looked up, but he hadn’t noticed me. He just kept on sweeping the ash up and into the box like nothing had happened. It was like I didn’t even exist. I was struck with an unbelievable feeling of loneliness, and then something flashed in my mind, like it was just resurfacing after an immeasurable length of time.

                It was my hands. They were covered in blood and shaking. There was a biting pain in my side similar to a cramp after eating too fast. There was also a knife. It was in my hands. I got the feeling like I’d just pulled it out of something it got stuck in. There was rushing blood. It was like a crimson waterfall. It poured out and out and it wouldn’t stop and it was so red. The colour of life – that’s what I was thinking at that time.

                I opened my eyes and he was there shaking my shoulders. I smiled and he said something. He said it was almost over, and he said that we could go now. He kept on shaking me and telling me that it was going to be okay. He said that he would fix things for the last time, and that it would all be okay. He said we could go home now. He said we could be relieved and happy because nothing bad would happen now, but I didn’t understand any of it. I was confused, because his eyes were sad and they were full of tears and he was crying to me.