I hope you enjoy it...

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Chapter 1: Death

Death.

I’ve always known that it existed, always been fully aware of its presence. I’ve always known what could cause it and what the after-effects of its appearances could do to a person, but I’d never actually been that person. I’d had friends, enemies, acquaintances, and even teachers who had all been the victims of a family death at one point or another, but I had never been able to sympathize. That was, until now.

But for some reason this whole thing just didn’t seem real to me. As I looked at the pale person who lay in the open casket, I couldn’t help feeling unattached, as if the entire event was non-existent and didn’t really apply to me. The person in there wasn’t dead and they weren’t my father, at least not spiritually.

The man in there might as well have been sleeping in the wrong place and at the worst possible time. What kind of expression was that to have on his face? How could someone look so peaceful only moments before their burial? Was drowning really that calming of a death or was my panicked reaction 8 years ago when the same thing had almost happened to me just a small misconception? That man couldn’t have possibly been my father.

My father was nice, smart, and had always had a smile on his face. He wasn’t the pale, unshaven, and startlingly underweight individual in the coffin. If he had left the world, he would have left with some dignity, not an acute sense of irony. I mean, he had been on his high school’s swim team and had taught me how to swim. How much more ironic could it get?

Something about this just wasn’t right and I could already imagine what a bystander might see now during the burial.

A group of sophisticated men and women stood in front of the coffin and glanced at it with solemn looks across their faces. They were his office coworkers, a few of whom had been with him only moments before his supposed drowning. Their presence was mainly caused by their own guilt, not actual concern or invitation. The fact that they had been with him made them feel as if they had somehow caused it, therefore the least they could do was to allow us the grace of their presence, or so it would seem.

The uninvolved majority, however, came because of some personal and internal obligation they felt and most were his superiors. For instance, his boss who he used to joke about with the coworkers and the supervisors that used to bug him about turning in his work on time. They were all there, staring numbly at the descent of my father’s coffin into the bleak grave.

Surrounding the grave and were men and women from the neighborhood, slowly lowering the coffin with glum looks on their faces. They silently did their work as foul play suspicions haunted their minds. They knew my father and they didn’t believe the madness that the police had claimed had happened.

‘A Drunken Drowning?’

They each looked at one another with grave eyes and shook their heads doubtfully. They suspected that other forces were responsible but silently watched those around them, certain they would discover evil intent.

I smiled when they told them and thanked them for their efforts. These were the neighbors who had watched me grow up and had always been looking out for us. This was my beloved security blanket, but they couldn’t cover and protect me forever.

At the foot of the grave stood a priest, the only real significance being that he seemed to be looking somewhere else with concerned eyes. Following his gaze, the bystander would have been drawn to 3 lone figures.

They were a small group of girls who watched the burial with sad eyes and intertwined fingers. They held hands and waited silently with their eyes focused on the coffin, all dressed for the occasion.

The girl standing on the right had chocolate-colored hair that curled near the ends and bright hazel eyes. She was unmistakably foreign and wore a shiny black long-sleeved shirt and long skirt with matching heels.

The one on the left wore a black t-shirt with black jeans and army boots and a huge, matching, pocketed jacket and gray scarf. Her straight, shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair and dark brown eyes strayed more toward the neighbors lowering the coffin than the coffin itself as she readjusted the acoustic guitar that lay strapped to her back. She shared their belief and secretly kept an eye out as well.

As eye-catching as these 2 might have been, it would be the one in the center that held the bystander’s attention.

She wore a simple black dress with slip-on shoes and a small white sweater while her straight black hair swayed slightly in the early August wind, her deep brown eyes staring ahead distantly. This in itself may have been slightly intriguing, but it would be the girl’s lack of expression paired with the tears that now streamed unconsciously down her face that would hold the witness’ attention.

That would only lead to one question: who was this girl? Her empty eyes, her shiny black hair, the tears that flowed uncontrollably down her face, and that bizarrely blank expression. Who, or what, exactly was she?

Why, that girl was me.

Completely unaware of the tears my eyes were spilling, I stood silently and watched as my father’s body disappeared forever surrounded by the company of my best friends, security blankets, and coldly comforting strangers.

The foreigner is Rebecca Vaughan,

the musician is Yoshioka Yui,

and I am Cho Jyongri.

This is my story.

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Now that I look back at it, it seems more or less like an introduction, but whatever. Please comment and tell me what you think so far. Thanks for reading! (^_^)

- DoMeSi