What is this lonely and sad feeling I'm having..? Is it because the sky is looking blue..? Or am I influenced by its greyness..? Just when will the rain come again to comfort me, blend in with my tears, and cool my angry heart..? Just when will you...return?

Lost in a Meadow
(With a Tainted Rose)

My sighing must have given my therapist the idea that I was still in distress because once she heard me, her fingers stopped moving along her keyboard and she peeped up from behind her large round glasses. And to be honest, I was; however, that was about six months or so ago. I've lost count when I realized how meaningless it was to miss and wait for someone who left without a reason.

“Are you okay Daeyeol?” I heard her ask. With no cracks in her skin, she always looked stunning at every meeting. She was a woman in her late 30s but her outer appearance is that of late 20s, which gave me a hard being 25, I wasn’t sure how to address her. From Mrs. Park to Ms. Park, then back to Mrs. Park again last month. It was always confusing since she was a woman who would jump in and out of marriages, though ironically she’s a counselor who mends the broken hearts of singles and conflicted couples.time in the beginning,

“I’m fine Mrs. Dara Park,”

Now, why I’ve decided to stick with Mrs. Dara Park is for the reason that in the past six months I’ve come to know her, she has had two divorces and three marriages all to men with the surname Park. She claimed men with that surname were her ideal types, which automatically meant I was excluded as a Lee. But her looks and personal life had nothing to do with my weekly visits. In fact, I wish I could stop coming as a whole since I wasn’t interested in her nor the purpose of her career. And the reason why I have to see Mrs. Dara Park every month is all because ever since my girlfriend suddenly left, I’ve been seeing her in my dreams.

The dreams first started a week after she had left me. Without a note or clue as to why; I fell into depression. I thought it could have been due to the fight we had, but I clearly recall us making up the day before. Though the following morning, before I had left for work, she did tell me she wasn’t feeling well. I checked her temperature before leaving, and it felt like she just needed some sleep. Besides, she showed no resentment toward me choosing to go to work.

So digging deeper, I began to wonder if it was because I couldn’t nurse her in a way she’d like—after discovering that she may never dance again. But no matter how many meals I skipped or rest I passed up, I couldn’t come to any conclusions at all. My thoughts started running in circles and somehow, all of a sudden I began dreaming of her. Our first encounter was when I saw her again in a meadow of tall Spring grasses, dancing—something she was good at as she was a dancer—through the wind and with the waving greens. She didn’t seem to notice me but as if she knew I was there, she started dancing further and further away. I wanted to catch her at first but my feet were stuck. There were no signs of mud, but my shoes were glued to the ground and I was trapped. Then I woke up.

“So have you been dreaming about her lately?” Dara proposed once she was done typing my responses from earlier. That was how time-consuming our therapy session normally went. Every word she or I said must be documented as evidence and proofs that I’ve come to discuss my issues with her. I’m sure one day these documents would be made public and students working on their projects would use it as some sort of reference to learn more about human behavior.

“Yes, it happened again last night,” I answered in a calm voice. Or at least I tried to remain calm, otherwise, she’ll treat it as a kind of temperament problem thus expand my number of meetings with her and cut short this meeting.

“Can you recall what happened exactly?” She asked before prepping her fingers over the keyboard again.

I must have appeared hesitant because right after I formed fists with my hands, she folded her hands together on her desk and turned directly toward me, and with her most careless tone she asked, “First tell me if it was a good or bad dream then we’ll continue depending on your answer,”

“It’s—” for a moment my tongue stopped working and I couldn’t announce the word ‘bad’.

In the end, I suppose I am hesitant.

When I first had these dreams I made myself believe it was a sign that she was thinking of me. As the saying goes you dream more of someone thinking of you. Or that she would come back to me one day. But as I started to get over my feelings, the dreams became sour. The once bright meadow started to display dying flowers, hay-like grasses with even thorns in the mix. She was no longer dancing but her back was toward me. I can’t explain it, but maybe she felt it too, that I was starting to move on in my dreams? But why would the setting look so sad? So lonely and dull? Since she left me first wouldn’t it make sense if I also let her go?

“Well?” she invites, trying to keep her posture as I unknowingly spaced out. Mr. Dara Park was patient, most of the time, but today I can hear the rush in her tone.

“It was good,” I lie because to discuss the ‘bad’ of it meant digging through my memories and searching for those unwanted images just to remind me of what did happen. I noticed her brows shot up, it appears I’ve failed to convince her.

“Good? It was good?” She asks.

I nod, hoping she would buy it.

“Daeyeol Lee,”

She didn’t buy it.

“I would need to know whether it was a good or bad dream to help you,” she said. Very comfortable words to the ears but at the same time, they were also just lies. She was no better liar than I am. No one can help me. Dreams are dreams, and they are out of both my and her control.

“It was a good dream, Mrs. Dara Park,” I repeat.

This time she let out a sigh and lean back in her chair, “If you say so. How about we end today’s meeting early and I’ll see you next time when you remember what clearly happened?”

Great, I think to myself.

When I got home that evening, I scan my basement-home. Just diagonal from the door was my bed. Also, the same bed where she and I used to share, and although it was too small for two grown-ups, we would sleep clung onto one another. All because I couldn’t afford a larger bed, especially when it, too, cannot fit in this room.

Across from the entrance was the kitchen, it was so small that it could barely fit us both. Sometimes when I come back home, I’d see her making something, usually eggs. She would wear the white apron that still hangs on the wall. But in the six months that it hasn’t been touched, I could see dust sprinkles over the once whiteness of it.

As I fully enter the room I shut the door and did not care to lock it. It was a habit of mine as a child, as I’ve never owned a lock of my own. But ever since I moved in with her, she would make sure the door was lock and warn me of bad people, particularly burglars. Though I can never think of any of our belongings important enough and worth securing. But it has been half a year since she’s gone and my habit is back.

Besides, if I leave the door unlocked, I had hope that maybe one day she will just walk in and nag me about not locking it.

Her nagging.

It made her more lovable.

I missed those long nags, whether it was the perfect or worst scenarios to complain in she would do it. She was the only one who kept this house noisy. But some time ago I can hear where the wind was coming from, through the cracks in the windowsills and walls. And I told myself, it has never been so quiet.

As I fell onto the bed, I hear it squeak. Since when did the bed start squeaking I wonder. Though I didn’t let it bother me. After her absence, I did start to notice how some things were broken and out of place. And it would remind me of the days when I came home from work and she would tell me the cabinets or chairs’ poor conditions, but not to worry as she would fix it somehow.

How problems of hers were only minor to me back then, but now I can see them. Often times the door to the farthest cabinet would fall off and wake me in the middle of the night. Or the unwelcomed wind would come in and rock the uneven legs of the wooden chair back and forth, making a thump sound. Since when did one of the screw fell off from the cabinet or how did a leg of the chair get shorter? I would never know.

After lying on the bed for a while, listening to the rocking chair on this windy day and just waiting for that cabinet door to fall, I found myself slipping into a slumber. There I saw her again, in my sleep.

Standing with her back to me and the grasses as good as hay now. There were no signs of life in this wide and endless meadow. Even she seemed to be losing life. “Gayoung,” I heard myself called out to her but she did not turn around. Then afterward I heard myself say, “I’m in pain, Gayoung. I’ve been waiting for you but never did you show up at our door anymore. Where did you go?” At this, I can see the turn of her head but did not get to fully see the front of her face, then I was awoken by the fall of an object.

When I woke up to complete and utter darkness, I grew uncertain of what it was that had woken me.

It had to be in the morning when I found out that it was the couple glasses we got for drinks; two red cups that formed each side of a heart, with handles on the curved, outer side. Though the glasses were always on the counter, I didn’t think much of what had made it fall over. And as someone with anosmia, I couldn’t care less for the glasses. We only got them because Gayoung found it an adorable.

Instead, I went about my day and arrive early at work, just because I couldn’t sleep. It’s been five years since I’ve delivered water jugs to wherever our customers were. I drove a truck with an open bed, on every side of the vehicle our work place’s logo was painted onto it. And as it was getting warmer, more people are demanding for water.

Once the week was done and over with, I had made enough to pay for rent and once again in the office of Mrs. Dara Park.

Seated across from her, I stretch out my fingers and hands as they were sore from all of the carryings I’ve done the night before. “Any dreams lately?” She first questions after a long moment of silence, as she sets everything up. When I glance up to meet her gaze, I notice the look in her eyes were strange.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

“For someone who delivers only water, you have a lot of cuts on your hands,” she points out, which had my eyes studying over my hands instantly. I quickly hide them in my pockets and clear my throat to dismiss the uncomfortable comment she has just made. “Have you been having suicidal thoughts?”

“Pardon?” I ask, nearly choke in disbelief.

“Where did those cuts come from?” She asks, bobbing toward my hidden palms.

“I got them from cleaning up the broken glass a few days ago,” I answer honestly but how I wish she wasn't so focused on my physical status. It had nothing to do with why I’m here and I always want to leave just as soon as I got there.

“Did you break the glass Daeyeol?” She asks in a tone a mother would to any child of her own when she’s trying to get an answer out of them.

“No,”

“Then?”

“I don’t know. It happened in the middle of the night when I was in bed. The wind must have knocked it over somehow,” when I eye her, I saw that she wasn’t convinced but went to record everything down.

“The wind, huh?”

“What else would it be?” I unconsciously raise my voice a little. I felt I had to defend myself. Her accusation was misdirected. As a child both my parents committed suicide and I always thought it was selfish of them, so why would I do think of something so dumb and low as they did?

At this Mrs. Dara Park halt in her finger movements and look up from her screen to lock eyes with me, “You do realize you’re speaking to a therapist in the field of paranormal activity or rather a parapsychologist right?” She asks.

“And like I’ve said before there’s nothing abnormal about Gayoung leaving,”

“Disappearance you mean,” she corrects me.

Oh, how I hate that word. Ever since Gayoung left, the authorities have been trying to convince me that she was missing. There’s no way Gayoung would just disappear. Even when she visits our neighbors in our front yard she would leave me a note, in case I get home first. But there was no note.

“Whatever word you want to use. All that is to this is that she left me and somehow someone suggested that I come here for help. But all of these supernatural things you keep bringing up, I don’t believe in that stuff,” I say, trying to hold in my irritation. It’s been five months since Mrs. Dara Park has been trying to get something out of me. I don’t know what it was but she was onto something. I could feel it.

“Let me ask you something Daeyeol. Has there been any strange occurrences around the house?”

“Like what?” I question back knowing this was all nonsense.

“Like things that wouldn’t happen unless someone makes it happen? Or sounds that you’re hearing now but never heard before?” She asks, her eyes sparkling.

I sigh, both audible and visible enough for her to get the idea that I’m not willing to play her game. “Nothing like that has happened Mrs. Dara Park,” I answer.

“You’re not lying?”

“For goodness sake, no. There’s nothing crazy about falling glass, cabinet doors or rocking chairs on a windy night!” I raise my voice even higher, hoping she would give it a rest. But my anger subsided when I saw a wide, satisfied smile flashing across her face.

“But it hasn’t been windy at all, Daeyeol,”

Later that day Mrs. Dara Park got the authority involved and went through my home. What they found was both disturbing and saddening.

The deceased body of Gayoung was found under my bed. How? I wasn’t sure. When they pulled out her remains there were still pieces of her left that gave away her identity. Like the pink dress, I’ve bought for her on our third Valentine date together.

My life used to revolve around her, when she was gone I thought my world will come to an end, and so I spend two months missing her. Little did I know she was right under me all this time.

An officer approaches me that evening, “Miss Gayoung’s medical records show that she was dead waist down three months prior to her disappearance due to an accident, correct?”

“Yes,” I reply. I kept my answer short with the officer as detectives and other justice workers closed off my place for investigation.

“When was the last time you interacted with Miss Gayoung? Perse spoke or saw her in person.”

Though I claimed to be moving on, the date Gayoung left was vivid and as clear as day to me. “It was a Monday. On December 19. I had work that morning and Gayoung...well she had voiced to me that she feeling ill. She had a running fever and I promised to check in on her during my lunch break. But when I got to work, I had to travel to another city and wasn’t able to come back to Seoul until eleven at night.”

I could tell that the officer was judging me. He probably has a wife and children of his own, and couldn’t believe how careless I was with my girlfriend. “We’ll need you to submit any proofs for your alibi. But first, we ask for permission to proceed with an autopsy on Miss Gayoung.”

“Sure.”

For the remainder of that week, I slept at work. Or should I say stay up at work? It was still hard to believe that Gayoung was dead. And how she took to the bed for cover, I just couldn’t imagine what or who it was that she was hiding from. Most of all, I couldn’t stop hearing what Mrs. Dara Park had to say later that evening. That my inability to smell may have cost Gayoung her life and I only dreamed of her because I was lying on top of her body. The squeaking of the bed was there before her passing, but it stopped and started again because her body had begun rotting and was no longer holding the bed up.

Finally, by the end of the week, I got my answers.

Apparently, Gayoung signed a contract with a small dance company, to pursue her dream of becoming a professional dancer. After the accident, she wasn’t compensated but instead accused of breaching the contract. Because she could no longer dance nor bring in profits, she had to pay for the events the company has set up and scheduled for her, out of pocket. Unable to settled and without my knowledge, Gayoung avoided the company for three months. Strangely the company didn’t sue, but loan sharks were hired to seek us out. Though they never approached me, police believe they have met with Gayoung at least four times. And their fifth visit may have scared her into hiding under the bed, where she could hardly fit. Due to Gayoung’s sickness, weakened state, and her powerless legs, Gayoung lost conscious as she was trying to hold the bed up for airways. The bottom mattress suffocated her as her skull was discovered faced up.

We’ve dated for five years and has been friends for eleven. I’m shaken and mad. Gayoung was independent but wasn’t I reliable? Couldn’t she have trusted me more? Why did she hide the fact about the company from me? Why lied that she was attending dance classes when it was work?

“You told me her problems seemed small to you, didn’t you? If you made it clear that you don’t care about her personal concerns, then would she come to you for anything?” Mrs. Dara Park ask. For once, I was speechless and admit that what she has said made sense. "Don't blame yourself though. I'm sure Gayoung has moved on too." 

After the autopsy, I gave Gayoung a proper burial.

When I did, I stopped dreaming of her.

And to this day my life experience has inspired many young men and women around the world to cover my story. Though they found it stunning, I will always remember how terrified those dreams came to wake me in the middle of the windless night for good several months. Sadly, I deserved them too.

And when I was lost in that meadow, Gayoung was the tainted rose.

A/N: So I've made changes to this one-shot (adding an additional 1k word) thanks to the many insightful readers <3 I've taken out the explanation chapter because it's no more of use (thank goodness). If this was your first time reading then thank you! Leave down any concerns, comments down below if you did or did not enjoy this story. Many thanks once again! MU-AH!