In a world far removed from Earth, two tender-hearted twins were born beside the Northeast face of a towering mountain. Small, globular-like hands blazed red-orange from the Cléllin that hung about the air like particles of broken glass, candied cotton, and colorful sparks of electricity.

 

As the twins grew—naturally—their interests began to divulge. The more robust of the two children tore into crafting things made from the surrounding wilderness. Wreaths, temples made of flowers, bridges of forestry that illuminated the darkened sky. The phoenixes that flew overhead during Summer Solstice never again went without a personalized dance crafted from the multitude of petals the boy had meticulously thrown together nights prior. His fingers grew nimble and his mind, substantially open.

 

On the other hand, the rosy-cheeked twin favored reaching for the nighttime sky and its sharp illuminations. Shards of glass reflected surfaces, moonlight dusted canopies, and ivory-silver shavings clung to the air with a sweet tartness like that of candied green apples the first bite after retrieval. The Molemen's(em dash)harmless creatures outlined by the mimicked appearance of stars(end em dash)crawled through the dark sky in a pleasant visualization of appreciation as the boy liberated them from the confines of their customary circular shapes. He would tweak aspects of their form to resemble things of authority and grace: a bear, a snake, a rabbit.

 

On occasion, he would convince his twin to play with him in the sky and so they would.

 

Eventually, their consistent search for substantiation drew their brotherhood further and further apart. On the Eve of their 7,920th day alive, a war ripped through the land, tainting the resplendent sky gray with ash and smoke. The incessant fires destroyed much of the forest. The emerald green ocean slowly but surely morphed into a blood-red cesspool of decaying flesh.

 

Neither twin could survive among the waste left behind by the footed soldiers.

 

In a final bout of all-encompassing empathy, Land and Sky unified to promise the twins one last wish each. Resolving not to let the other one know, both boys inscribed their wishes into a book bound together with twine from one of the few remaining trees.

 

"I will tell your story and you will tell mine."

 

Unbeknownst to either brother, the first-born twin had cursed himself twelve days prior with the taste of putrid hatred. His unsoiled blood had been tainted by the despicable war. Because of this, direct descendants from his magical blood would be forced to distinguish between reality and apparition. If anyone were mad, it would be them.

 

➽───────────────❥ ♔

 

The truth would not deteriorate Bangchan.

 

He lay sprawled across the uppermost stairwell. All attention focused on the popcorn ceiling overhead, he gripped and ungripped his fist repeatedly. Moments earlier he had heard a commanding voice. He was quite sure of it. Eerily succinct; the voice had told him to do one thing and one thing only. Had he listened at any point during her chilling tirade, he would have long ago thrown himself over the railing.

 

Cold tile to smashed, broken bones.

 

The school bell rung. Lunch was over.

 

Bangchan managed to get through periods 4, 5, and 6 without another evaluation of his sanity. Shortly before period 7 began, the sound of chiming bells cut through the classroom's deafening silence.

 

"Swallow this."

 

A howl, loud and clear, cut through the bell's vibrations.

 

"But, no more than one droplet. You don't want to forget."

 

A flurry of sparrows erupted from the surrounding forest. Alerted to the brush of wings against flesh, a cluster of beady-eyed shadows surfaced from the darkened areas of their stomping ground.

 

"Do you take pleasure in knowing where you are?"

 

A snow-white okapi emerged from one end of the clearing. A wreath containing hundreds of hand-picked, tiny flowers sat perched on top of the three jagged scars running down the length of her speckled calp.

 

"Or is it fear that defines you?"

 

At the other end, an icy blue jaguar stalked to the front of the clearing. Several tiny knicks hugged the lower-half of her sinewy front legs. The markings of a faded star emblazoned the left side of her chest.

 

"Have you lost your mind?"

 

Calm composure intact, Bangchan's mossy brown eyes began their ascent towards the familiar voice. An inkling of doubt surrounded this stranger's presence. Why, Bangchan wondered. Why was it always this fascination with secrecy? What merits did his mind have in preventing him from altering the structure of this scene and its many intersecting designs? Every single time, near everything, was the same. The only thing that changed was the frequency of events.

 

Encircled by a cluster of roses, thorns, and vines, a cloaked figure sat perched on top of a boulder. A pair of burgundy-colored gloves hugged the contours of his hands and a tarnished silver chain encircled one cuff.

 

The jaguar roared.

 

A fleet of red foxes emerged from below the cliff's edge. The dust over the rocky terrain settled, revealing the full extent of the atrocities conjured up by Bangchan's mind.

 

The skin on their red faces stretched farther than the reaches of their ears, two jagged stones jutted out from either side of their skulls and a set of oddly spaced gnarled black teeth rested within a circle of thorns. While different in shape and size across each creature, five circular wooden rings lay carved into the flesh of their bone. They stalked forward. A low, guttural sound rippled through the group until all of them collectively partook in the heart-thumping noise.

 

"Have you forgotten who you are, Boy?"

 

The figure raised a hand in the general direction of the purpling sky. A sliver of pale skin peeked out from between the glove and the cloak that had since slightly slid down to the crook of his elbow.

 

A pitch-black door appeared over the blood-red ocean several hundred feet away. Moonlight illuminated its flawless contour.

 

Sensing Bangchan's growing uneasiness, the shadows dipped low to the ground, their jaws set for attack and their hindlegs bucked straight for the kill.

 

"If the uneasiness that surrounds you now were to manifest into thorns, you would hold everyone away."

 

The sound of clanging bells intensified.

 

"Is that what you want?"

 

Something struck Bangchan. He looked down to see a tiny black ring digging deep into the flesh over his heart. The centermost part of the circle expanded to reveal a miniature skeleton enveloped by vines.

 

Beads of sweat dripped down Bangchan's back. He slowly turned to face the figure and noticed that the classroom was now devoid of people. He breathed a sigh of relief. Of course. The school's shrill bell crapped into his ear. Another of his daydreams. Lifting the front legs of his chair up off the ground, Bangchan proceeded to knock his fist against his heart. Beating intact, he lolled his head to the side.

 

Cherry blossoms were in full bloom. He would pick some up off the floor later today. For keepers. He could never get enough of Nature's captivating beauty.

 

Despite his

 

Had the author of his father been at all present in his only child's life, Mr. Bang would have been undeniably content to know that his son had become a sage at fabricating events. The eclectic mix of made-up

 

Bangchan collided with a honey-colored individual on his way out of the classroom. Before the individual could lose his footing, Bangchan wrapped an arm around his waist.

 

"Call me best-selling, Bangchan."

 

Haen grumbled. "Best-selling what now?" He peeled Bangchan's arm away.

 

Fingers placed contentedly across his temple, Bangchan threw his arm through the air. "Best-selling writer, that is. I could craft a story worth millions. Millions in money, thoughts, people and most importantly-"

 

A zip of air brushed past his face. He peeled his eyes open to see a rose-shaped note held tight in between well-cared-for fingers.

 

Bangchan's shoulders slumped. "Another one?" He gingerly took the note between his hands as they made their descent towards the first floor. "Not another one."

 

"Maybe if you stopped existing," Haen said without so much as a glance in Bangchan's direction.

 

The soles of Bangchan's sneakers skidded across the polished floor as he zipped around to face Haen. Back pressed against the space between doorway and classroom, Haen had no means of escape. He clung to the strap on his bookbag.

 

"I think you're forgetting something important." Bangchan lowered his head. He focused intently on the irises of Haen's chestnut-colored eyes. Dark eyelashes framed his own dark brown eyes. "The thing is that would make you very, very sad, dear, sweet..." Bangchan smirked. "Heinz."

 

A momentary pause. The comment registered and Haen's mouth dropped open. Before Bangchan could feel the force of Haen's kick, he peeled himself away and skedaddled away with little more than an ear-splitting grin.

 

Heinz was a name only Bangchan called him. And not a very good one, to boot. Of course, his friend of over ten years wouldn't like it one bit.

 

➽───────────────❥ ♜

 

School let out with the same universal promise to see each other tomorrow. Bangchan furrowed his brow. He knew that the polite thing to do would be to ignore the commentary but he never understood the purpose of saying good-bye knowing very well that no one wouldn't not make it here tomorrow. The chances of anything bad occurring were so slim, the potential ideas never quite made his stomach churn the way it did other classmates.

 

Without stopping to see who was calling him, Bangchan swooped in to tie his shoelace. A paper plane breezed right past the space where his head had been a meager two seconds earlier.

 

"Darn! Is that YOU, Bangchan?" From behind, a shorter figure stood cackling alongside a trio of newcomers.

 

Bomsoo bent the fingers on his right hand. The sound of cracking bones collided with the whispered chatter coming from the trio standing behind him. Messy tart brown hair hung across his sloth-shaped eyes like wisps of baked . Unlike Bangchan, only one dimple dotted the left-side of his face.

 

"I forget. Honestly. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate you from that chipmunk of a friend. What was his name again?" Bomsoo pretended to think about it before sneering at Bangchan. "Oh, right. Heinz."

 

Bangchan dropped his duffel bag. Bomsoo snickered. "Hold it there, bud. I'm on your side. There's this thing I want you to know."

 

Bangchan turned to walk away. "Talk it over with your other -faced friends. I'm tired of you prancing around like a mole rat fresh in the sun."

 

"Beware of the cat." Several octaves lower, Bangchan didn't recognize the voice as Bomsoo's. He shot around to face Bomsoo but the boy had since walked away to converge with the trio.

 

Bangchan swallowed. That was the voice of the figure from his daydream. But, how? Bangchan only ever daydreamed in moments of absolute stillness. How could he have heard what he knew could not have been heard? With pursed lips, he forced aside the lingering doubt. He knew better than to divulge energy to what could have been. What mattered were the certainties. Nothing more.

 

Halfway home(em dash)at the junction between a street and an alley(em dash)Bangchan encountered a black cat. The cat took one step off of the sidewalk and was jolted backwards by a speeding delivery truck. The truck driver made a swift turn and the cat was gone.

 

"Mom! I'm home."

 

Bangchan peered into his mother's workspace. The tiny room had originally been used as a storage closet but since his father's departure, the space had been converted into a makeshift office area for his mother and her works of art.

 

Bangchan understood hobbies. He had a number of them himself. What he didn't understand was the idea of concealing them from the public. Where was the self-fulfillment in knowing that no one would ever analyze your work? Critique it. Peruse it. Experience  it . Bangchan could not fathom the wasted potential.

 

"Hello, sweets. I made some sweet tea. Should be in the fridge behind the jar of pickles."

 

"Would you like me to cook something?"

 

Mrs. Bang did not look up. She was lost in whatever work of art lay before her on the drafting table.

 

"No, sweets. Help..." A pause as she leaned in to pluck something away with the pair of tweezers in-hand. "Sorry." She looked up, amber eyes shining with the light from her table lamp. "Help yourself to the sub I picked up from Gohin's."

 

"But, mom. Would YOU like something?"

 

Mrs. Bang giggled. "Mama has already eaten."

 

Bangchan excused himself before scurrying to the kitchen. He slammed the fridge doors open. True to his mother's sweet symphony of words, a paper bag from his favorite sub store lay hedged in between the jar of strawberry jelly and carton of almond milk. Whoever was in charge of his well-being was undoubtedly in love with him today.

 

Hours after dinner, Bangchan shut his laptop down. He had managed to complete this week's work in record-breaking time. 2 hours and 11 minutes. He rejoiced at the idea of being able to come home tomorrow without so much as an inkling of responsibility. He would be able to dive deep into his favorite music program. The latest track he was working on now was sure to win over hearts from his previous work. That, and attract new fans.

 

As Bangchan brushed his teeth, he made sure to lock the front door, set the alarm, and wipe down the counter to the side of the main hallway. On occasion, his mother would bring home sticky keys from the times they would fall in between her desk and the printer next to it at her part-time job as an office worker. She would forget to wipe them down, leaving behind a glaze of stickiness across the cherry oak wood.

 

Before Bangchan headed back to his room, he checked in on his mother. She was fast asleep, curled up into a ball in her favorite papasan chair. The cushion was nearly depleted of padding and the wooden frame was beginning to curl in on itself. Yet, Mrs. Bang refused to get rid of it. The chair was so much of a pain that one day Mr. Bang threatened to remove it if she didn't at least buy another cushion to replace the frayed one. This was nearly six years ago. The cycle ended up repeating itself and Bangchan simply didn't have it in him to reprimand his mother for this little thing.

 

Bangchan slid his feet into a pair of cushioned socks with the fuzzy balls on either ankle before tucking himself into bed.

 

A blue light cut into his room. A helicopter flying up ahead. He remembered the time he had been asked to go on a date with a girl whose father owned a company that crafted the parts to make private jets. He had blatantly refused.

 

Was there merit in knowing that you could give yourself away to someone and have the expectation that they would never let go?

 

Bangchan rolled over and examined his nightstand. Only three items occupied the squareish constraints. A lamp, a dried rose, and a framed photograph. The rose was the only flower he had ever kept for himself. Bangchan had always compelled several girls to want to make his acquaintance physically. He didn't understand why. He might have had charm and adequate looks on top of academic success but that didn't give them a reason to want him when all he ever said was "no, no, no". Romantic love just wasn't a sensible idea.

 

Letting his eyes skip over the crowded scene in the photograph's background, Bangchan perused over the only two figures directly facing the camera. There he was. Eight years younger. Polished yet dauntingly as adventurous with his shock of platinum-silver curls. Just a few days prior to the event, he had gone and gotten both of his earlobes pierced for a total of three piercings.

 

But, what held his attention was the taller black-haired boy standing directly beside him. Hands clasped tightly around a bed of roses, Chun looked feverishly at the camera while Bangchan held him close with one lanky arm thrown over his shoulders and the other nudged close to his forearm.

 

Chun with his impeccable mannerisms. Chun with his ability to empathize with anyone. Chun. Dear, sweet Chun.

 

Bangchan swallowed the thick ball of saliva hanging tight in his throat. Chun was the most vivid memory from those formative years and yet, nothing Bangchan could prolong thoughts about less he risk his peaceful sensibility.

 

Bangchan shifted his focus to the world outside his window. Not a tree in sight. His heart wavered. There was beauty in nature. Only his mother must have sensed it, as well because a number of her pieces featured one naturalistic aspect or another.

 

A loud crash jolted Bangchan out of bed. He hurried into the kitchen to find his mother on her knees.

 

"Mom?"

 

He approached her from behind. Her frame trembled.

 

"Oh, sweetheart. I-"

 

"Mom, no!" Horror zipped across Bangchan's face as he noticed the broken glass cup held tight to her bloody palm. "What's going on? What happened?"

 

"I'm sorry, baby. I dropped this and..." She broke out into a fresh sob.

 

"It's okay, Mom. Are you alright?" Bangchan gingerly took the glass away from her before stooping to lift her up away from the shards. "Don't worry."

 

Tentatively, he helped his mother to the couch in the living room. "I'll be right back. Stay here." His mother said nothing; her clouded eyes trained on the corner nearest the window. Trickles of moonlight laid flat on the wooden floor.

 

As Bangchan pulled the broom from within the closet, a shrill noise erupted from somewhere inside the apartment. He dropped to the floor, arms held tight against his ears. The sound dissipated after two four-second counts.

 

Bangchan peeled his eyes open to find his mother laying on her side, the window overlooking the small balcony broken. A gust of wind slapped at the curtains. He drew tentatively closer to his mother.

 

Something darted past him. He pivoted on the balls of his feet to find an icy blue cat staring up at him. Instead of two pupils in either eye, star-like crests lay wrapped around ivory-green irises. A crown of wilted flowers sat atop its head. One small leaf blazed red.

 

"Is this what you wanted?"

 

Bangchan reached for the nearest thing he could find. His fingers connected with the telephone. Itching to find something better, he let his hand wander over the glass table.

 

"Is this reality? Do you..." The cat looked at his mother. "Do you envision a life without your loved ones?"

 

Bangchan followed the cat's gaze. His heart dropped. His throat closed up. Something heavy fell deep into the pit of his stomach. "Mom?" He scrambled to her side. "No, no, no." In pressing her face to his chest, he noticed how cold she had become. "This stupid mind of mine. It's all a dream! A vision. Any minute now, these hallucinations will end and I'll be back in bed, crying over-" Bangchan shut his mouth. He hadn't been crying over anyone or anything. The tears kept flowing.

 

Everyone. Everyone he loved disappeared for one reason or another. Something was surely wrong with him. Only him. Everyone else was right to stop loving him. First, Chun and then his father. And now. Now, even his mother... He bit down on his lips to suppress a scream.

 

The cat tsked. "If you survive, it will very well be a feat of magic. No man, god, or gremlin can save you."

 

Bangchan blinked. When he came to, he was surrounded by a bed of yellow daffodils. Their soft petals tickled the undersides of his arms. He stood up, intense headache blooming within his head. The events from however long ago rushed to the center of his attention.

 

The broken glass. The shrill sound. The cat with freakishly green eyes. He took a deep breath. Most aversive of all, the pretty woman lying limp across his living room. With a bullet in the middle of her forehead.

 

Bangchan took a shaky breath in. Why was that woman in his apartment? She must have been another apparition. A reimaging.

 

Bangchan sat up. His eyes felt heavy. He reached up in expectation of tears but his fingertips came back empty.

 

As he stretched his arms out, he noticed the daffodils stretched out much farther than his eyes could see. Even the trees on either side of him looked farther away than he would have liked. Bangchan reached into his pajama pocket. Despair cut through him as he realized his phone was not on his person.

 

He knew nothing about this place. How could he be certain of safety while he traveled? How long would it take him to reach civilization? Where was he? This place was most certainly not Seoul, South Korea. The sky was too blue, even for the countryside. He stood and stretched. Was he the only person here?

 

The last thought sent shivers down his spine. He worked through a multitude of scenarios and answers before coming to the best response plausible. He was alone and this was unfamiliar territory but there wasn't anything that could hunt him here that wouldn't otherwise attack him in South Korea. The first order of business was to find out how he could go back home. His college graduation was fast approaching.

 

"Hello! You must be lost."

 

Bangchan froze. A circular black cloud swirled dauntingly close to his face. He tentatively swatted it away. A barely audible complaint erupted from it. At this very moment, Bangchan wished more than anything that his socks were capable of holding the weight of a neck as he prepared to strangle what lay in store for him.

 

The cloud fizzed out to reveal a boy with a face much younger than he surely was. An oversized yellow cardigan draped his frame, hiding any indication of either extra weight or musculature from view. His taupe boots looked like they naturally belonged strapped to an elderly hoarder's cabin wall up in the snow-capped mountains.

 

"Welcome to Hyenth, Bangchan. My name is Seungmin. An absolute scrumptiousness to meet you."