How to Save a Life

by choiminho7264 and falliblefantasy

story for Let's Write to This Modest Proposal Writing Contest

genre: hurt/comfort

theme: space

01 –

It was dark in the alley. It wasn't entirely pitch black, but it was dark enough that no one would notice me in here if they walked by. Scratch that. They would notice me. My sobs were ringing throughout the narrow passageway. My dad would always tell me not to be a baby; not to cry. Guys don't cry. But that's just in front of others. Nobody's watching me now.

My pants were getting all wet. In some ways it was relieving. It cooled the bruises that were all over my thighs from the beatings my dad gave me. But in other ways, it was disgusting, because it was alley water that was soaking them.

I stood up cautiously and glanced around the deserted alley, just in case. Then I bent down and grabbed the can of spray paint I keep here. I straightened up again, and began.

The wall was all covered in random phrases that I left here before. It was my way of getting feelings out, even though it never worked. I sprayed the bright red paint over the faded darker colors. When I finished, I stepped back to admire my work.

Nobody will care if I just disappear, was written in bold letters on the cluttered wall. I wiped my nose with my sleeve and set the can in it's original position again. Then I walked over to a less-wet part of the alley and sat down again. I rolled up the sleeve on my left arm. With tears beginning to fall, I took my penknife from my pants pocket and slid it open.

I pressed the cool blade into my skin and made a slash. As the warm blood dripped down my arm and stained my sleeve, I looked at the previous scars, cuts and scabs on my arm. I did a quick calculation. 27, that seemed about right. I looked up at the wall again and flitted my eyes over the dozens – 27, to be exact – of 'diary entries' that were scattered all over the wall.

Then I glanced back down to my arm. Blood was still coming out of the fresh wound. It hurt, but I ignored the pain. I deserve to feel pain. I'm just a lowly piece of . I leaned my head back onto the wall and closed my tear-soaked eyes. I sighed unevenly as tears started to roll down my cheeks again.

02 –

Sitting there, in the alley, memories started to flow back into my mind. I tried to push them away, but I couldn't. They enveloped me.

“Taemin! Get your down here!” my dad thundered. I was huddled in my room trying to ignore the cuts and bruises that stained my whole body. I didn't want to go down. I stayed exactly where I was.

“Taemin! Get down here now!” he roared again. I winced, but I still didn't move. A couple of minutes passed by. I sighed in relief. Maybe he forgot. I loosened my tense muscles and lifted my head up. But that's when I heard them.

Thundering footsteps were coming up the stairs. I gasped. I made myself small and pulled the blanket on my bed over me. 'Maybe he won't see me,' I thought. I curled up into a ball and held my breath. The steps came all of the way up the stairs and stopped in front of my door. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that he wouldn't see me. Then I got flooded with light.

I opened my eyes and looked up. My dad was standing there and holding my blanket. His eyes were murderous.

“I'm sorry, daddy, I didn't mean to! Please forgive me!” I screamed and sheltered myself with my arms.

“You're 9 years old! I shouldn't have to remind you to wash the dishes!” he roared.

“I'm sorry!” I screamed again. It was no use. He gripped my skinny arm with his strong grip and yanked me to my feet. I called out in pain.

“You're not a baby anymore! Stop acting like one!” he yelled in my face. Then he slapped me. My cheek stung and I could taste blood in my mouth. I didn't cry out, though. Then he slapped me again. A tear rolled down my cheek.

He kept beating me until I screamed. He slapped, hit, and yelled at me until I was sobbing and screaming for forgiveness. Then he dropped me onto the floor in a heap and smiled. He smiled. It made him happy to see me crumpled on the floor.

“You lowly piece of ,” he spat at me. I winced at his words. No matter how many times he said it, it always hurt.

I shook my head and opened my eyes to try to shake that memory out. I wanted them to stop. I didn't want to be tortured anymore. But then another one came. I couldn't hold it back, no matter how hard I tried.

“I hate you!” I screamed at him.

“You hate me? I put a ing roof over your head, you ungrateful ,” he said in an even tone.

“You never took care of me! I had to do it all my--” he cut me off with a blow to the head. Tears started to roll down my cheeks. “You're not a father,” I spat.

I was hit again, harder this time. I stifled a sob. Tears were streaming down my face as I glared hard at him.

“You piece of ,” he spat. “You're too much of a baby to take care of. 13 is too old to be crying,” he said. I just kept glaring. “It's also an old enough age to know not to disrespect your father.” he punched my stomach, causing me to spit up blood onto the floor.

“Clean this mess up. Then get out of my sight,” he spat and stormed up the stairs.

“No,” I whispered. I shook my head. I didn't want these memories. I wanted them to go away. “Stop it,” I begged my mind. It didn't listen.

“Get out!” he thundered. I was crumpled on the floor of the kitchen.

“It's the middle of winter!”

“Then maybe you shouldn't've snuck out last night!”

“I just needed some air!” I protested. My dad's features didn't budge.

“Get. Out. Now,” he ordered. I began to sob as I got up and grabbed my shoes and coat. My dad was watching me the whole time and glaring at me.

“Don't come back until you've grown up,” he snapped. Then he shoved me out of the door and into the snow. I stumbled through the whiteness and into the streets. I lost my way and turned into an alley.

That's when everything started. I was only 15.

I snapped my eyes open. I didn't want these memories. I stood up and glanced at my arm again. The blood had stopped coming out. It was all dry and caked all over my arm. I rolled down my sleeve and put my knife away. I looked at the wall and heaved another uneven sigh. The back of my hand wiped away my tears as I walked down the street, back to my house.

03 –

You're nothing. Just a lowly piece of . That's what I just finished writing. I dropped my arm that was holding the can down to my side. It was sore and raw from today's beatings. I normally try not to come here two days in a row, but my dad was being so harsh today. I had to come. I couldn't stay away. As I sat down with my knife, the memories from earlier flooded my brain.

“Taemin, you son of a ,” my dad spat as he held onto my arm. He was squeezing it and giving me a big, purple bruise. I was giving him an even glare, even though my insides were screaming.

“I didn't do anything, dad.”

“You didn't do anything? Bull. .” then he clubbed the side of my head with his fist and it made me emerge in darkness.

When I woke up, I was dumped on the front porch.

I shook the memory away and looked back at my wrist as I made the cut. It bled about the same amount as yesterday. I was getting terribly close to the vein on my wrist. I had room for about 13 more cuts before the slash that would end my miserable life.

I watched the blood run down my arm again. A tear rolled down my cheek as I wondered what it would feel like to bleed to death and know that no one's going to be there to save you, or even attempt to talk you out of doing it.

04 –

I was slumping in my chair at school. My dad had kept me up half of the night last night yelling at me, and I was really tired. There was no point in paying attention in school. My cuts would kill me eventually, if my dad didn't do it first. I sighed and rested my head on my desk and stretched my arms out in front of me.

I closed my eyes for a moment. I wasn't necessarily meaning to fall asleep, but it just happened.

I was in the hospital. Sitting in the hallway. Nobody was there beside me, there were just doctors everywhere. Confused, I stood up. There was a room across the hall. There was some crying from a small child coming from it. Curious, I took a step inside the room. What I saw made me step back in surprise.

There was a little boy, probably 7 or 8, was standing next to a woman in the bed. She had bruises all over her and she looked like she was dying. They didn't acknowledge my presence. I wanted to know who these people were, so I took another step forward and gasped.

The woman was my mom. My mom was in the bed. That means the boy was...

I jerked awake. My right arm moved suddenly and my fingers snagged on my sleeve, pulling it up. I didn't notice it, I just sat up and looked at the front of the classroom. I was spacing out and nodding off. Then someone tapped my shoulder.

I snapped my head to the side. My desk partner was looking at me. I looked at him and studied his features. He had black, wavy hair and a nice face structure. He looked tall and skinny, but more athletic. He had a very shocked look on his face. He was probably looking at my bruised face.

I mouthed the word, “What.” He looked down at my arm and gestured towards it. I looked at it and saw that it was rolled up and half of my lower arm was exposed. I quickly pulled my sleeve down and turned away from him. He didn't need to know.

“Hey,” he whispered. I looked at him. He looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said coldly and looked towards the front.

“Dude,” he whispered again. I looked at him and glared. He didn't back off, though. He wanted to ask his question. “Did you do that to yourself?” he asked and gestured towards my arm again.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. What's it to you?” I snapped.

“Why?” he asked.

“It's none of your ing business!” I yelled. Everyone looked at me. I just slumped back into my seat and looked at my lap.

“Mr. Lee, please go to the principal's office,” the teacher said. I huffed and got out of my seat. I glared at the boy as I stocked out of the room and down the hallway.

05 –

I was going to the alley again. It had been almost a week since the incident at school, and this would be my first time here in that week.

It was late. My dad had passed out drunk, and now was the only time I could get out. It was somewhere around midnight. I was in view of the alleyway, and I saw movement. I squinted my eyes, but I couldn't see anything anymore. I was sure I saw something, though. I set off running. I didn't want anyone to see the alley. It was my alley.

I reached the alley and found nothing out of the ordinary. I walked over to my wall, and got the can for my next entry. As I shook the can and looked at the wall, I saw something weird there.

This isn't good for you was written in the space between my latest entry and the one before that. 'Maybe that's what the person was doing,' I thought to myself. I just ignored it and wrote out my entry. It was something normal. I wrote, I'm all alone. Then I put the can down and sat down. I glanced up at the wall before I took out my knife.

For some reason, I got up and grabbed the can again. I shook it and positioned it in my hand. I wrote the following on the wall, all together and crowded:

You ungrateful .

Maybe you shouldn't have snuck out, then.

Stop being a big, useless baby.

Come back once you've grown up.

Did you do that to yourself?

You need some help.

You're a disgrace to everyone around you.

Nobody will notice when you're gone.

Get out.

My can had run low. I threw it to the side and grabbed a brand new one full of black paint. I shook it and threw the cap off. There was just one more. With my eyes flooding with tears, I started to write in bold letters over everything.

There's no one who cares about me.

I put the can down and slumped onto the ground right there. I took out my knife and counted how many entries. 11. I made the cuts up my arm.

It was covered in blood. There was blood everywhere. On my arm, on my sleeve, on my pants, on my hand, and on my face.

One more cut, and I'm dead.

I just sat there and watched as the warm, red liquid flowed out of my body.

06 –

I was stumbling through the hallway. My vision was clouding and I had a terrible headache. My words were all slurred and I couldn't understand what anyone was saying. The light hurt my eyes and everything was way too loud. I had a hangover.

It wasn't from alcohol, though. It was from all of the blood I lost last night. I was honestly surprised when I woke up in the alley this morning and was still alive. When I went home to get changed and wash the blood off, my dad was still passed out in the living room. I secretly hoped that his liver gave out, but then he snored. I rolled my head back in frustration as I went into the bathroom.

I reached my classroom and stumbled inside and to my desk. I sat and slumped over the table and rested my aching forehead on the cold, hard surface.

When the teacher started to talk, I lifted my head up and pretended to pay attention. My focus was really on the person next to me, who kept looking in my direction. He kept doing it, so finally I turned to him.

“Would you stop it?” I snapped in a whisper-voice.

“You look sick,” he said.

“I'm not, so quit staring,” was what I said. My words were coming out strangely clear at the moment.

“What's wrong, then?”

“Nothing,” I said. Then my tongue started to feel weak and I got swept into a stage of mild oblivion again. My brain was being all weird and uncooperative. Like when you're drunk and you say anything that comes to mind. That's what was beginning to happen.

“Taemin? Are you all right?” he asked again. Now because of my oblivion, I answered truthfully this time.

“No,” I said.

“Tell me what's wrong.” I dropped my head and rolled up my sleeve, revealing the cuts and scars that was on it. Minho gasped. I wasn't done, though. I lifted up my other sleeve and showed him the yellow-green bruise on it.

“Taemin, you really need help,” he said. I snapped out of my confusion and rolled down my sleeves vigorously, hurting my arms on the way down. I grimaced at the pain, but I made no sound.

“No, I don't. I don't need it, and I don't want it,” I said through gritted teeth.

“But--”

“End of story.”

Then I ignored him for the rest of the day.

07 –

I had a dream. It was a horrible dream. It came a couple of days after my talk with Minho.

“Mommy, what's happening?” I asked in a high-pitched voice.

“I'm dying, Taemin. I won't be here much longer,” she said. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I started to cry.

“You can't leave me alone with him, Mama!” I cried. She placed a week hand on my arm. I looked up at her and her bruised body.

“Taeminnie, I need you to promise me something,” she said. Her face was serious.

“What is it, Mama?”

“Whatever you do, don't give in. I know life might seem hard, but don't give up. No matter what your father says or does, don't give up.”

“Okay, mommy.”

Then her hand went slack and there was a loud beep. I was ushered out of the room by strange men in white uniforms as my mom was brought into a weird place. I tried to chase after her, but I was held back.

“Mommy! Don't leave me! Mommy!” I screamed as my vision was overthrown by the blurriness from my tears.

I couldn't keep quiet against my father any more. I needed an answer. I got out of my bed and went out to the living room, where I knew my dad would be. I walked over to the TV and switched the off switch. Then I stood in front of it and faced my father.

“Why did you kill her?” I asked.

“I never killed anyone, Taemin,” he said.

“Don't play dumb. Why did you kill her?” I repeated.

“Who are you accusing me of killing?”

“Why did you kill my mother?” I asked. My tone was rising. My dad didn't seem affected. He didn't get a mad face, or a protesting face. He smiled and laughed.

“Your ignorance makes me laugh,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I was confused.

“I didn't kill that woman. You did,” he said and got up.

“W-what? No. I didn't touch her. I was never-- I would never--”

“Oh, yes. It was you.”

“No. No!”

“You wanted everything. You were never happy. That woman wanted everything for you, too. She would buy you things, but you would always want more. We were running out of money.”

“No! Stop!”

“She yelled at me and hit me. She wanted more money. She had begun to be like you.”

“Stop it!” I covered my ears.

“She loved you, and not me. She would die for you. She told me that if I didn't step up, that she would throw me out, move you away, or kill me.” He started to come forward.

“Stop!”

“I didn't step up, though. I knew she wasn't serious, she wouldn't hurt me. But I was wrong. You had driven her mad. She came to me with a gun.”

“I don't want to hear it!”

“She threatened and hit. I hit back. She wasn't going to get away with this. I got carried away. All of this started because of you, Taemin. You killed your mother.”

“I didn't!”

“You did.” He was almost upon me now. I ran away and threw the front door open. I ran out and through the streets. This was too much, just too much. Tears were clouding my vision, and my sobs could be heard everywhere in the silent night.

The first light of the morning came as I burst into the alley. I grabbed my can to write my last entry. After this final cut, there would be no more Lee Taemin.

I shook it and got ready. I positioned the can when I saw it.

It was written in uneven letters. The paint was all sloppy. It was definitely the work of someone inexperienced. I recognized it as the same hand writing as the note I encountered last time. It wasn't what it looked like, that made me stop. It was what it said.

There, underneath the words, There's no one who cares about me, were two words. They were small words, but they meant a lot. Someone had written,

I care.

I took a step back and stared at the words for a moment. Then I shook my head and wrote on the wall, Who are you? I knew I wasn't going to get an answer, though. I was never going to find out. That was my last entry. I dropped the can on the ground and took out my knife.

I could barely see what I was doing. My vision was all cloudy from my tears. I was making loud gasping noises and I screamed when I dug the sharp blade into my skin.

I cut deep. There was no need to be rational. Either way, this would be the last cut.

When I finished the line, I stared at the would as blood started to pour out. After about a minute, I got weak in my knees and collapsed on the ground. I was still staring at my arm as it poured out more and more blood onto the concrete.

I was sobbing loudly. I could feel the life slowly coming out of my body, and it hurt. It was getting more and more tiring to keep sobbing, though, so my sobs quieted down to a whimper.

As blackness started to creep into my vision, one thing popped into my mind.

“No matter what your father say or does, don't give up.”

It rang around in my head. I used all of my strength and whispered three words:

“I'm sorry, Mama,” was all I could say. Then I heard a footstep and I turned my head. It was exhausting. My vision was almost totally black now. I saw a figure, though. And then I heard someone call my name. But I couldn't respond. I stayed, motionless, as the darkness enveloped me.

08 –

There was this weird beeping going on. I slowly opened my weak eyes and looked around. I was in a hospital.

At first, I thought it was a mere hallucination. I should either be in my own bed, because everything was a dream, or I should be with my Mama. But, I realized it wasn't a dream when I saw my desk partner sitting beside the bed. He was slumped in a chair and asleep.

I was glad for a moment, but then rage flowed throughout my body.

He should've let me die. I don't want to live if I have to live with the guilt of killing my own mother. I don't want to live if I have to live with my father. I don't want to live if I have to walk on the street and remember everything that went wrong all of those nights I was left wandering in the cold. I don't want to live with having 30 scars on my left arm and an entire ally full with depression.

I was so mad at this boy, I couldn't contain it.

“Why did you do this!” I yelled at his sleeping body. He jerked awake.

“Why didn't you let me die?” I screamed at him. He looked shocked.

“Taemin, I couldn't let you--”

“Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to die?”

“Taemin, it wouldn't be right--”

“It was none of your business! Why couldn't you just bud out?”

“Taemin!”

I jerked forward and realized I was hooked up. I was still flaming with rage, and I attempted to break free of the red tube that was attached to me.

“Taemin, stop it,” he said. Then he got up and held me down so that I couldn't move. I was about to yell at him more when I saw his bare arm. There were scars all over it. I immediately went limp.

“Oh, god,” I said. My eyes were glued to his arm. He noticed where I was looking and hurriedly pulled down his sleeve.

“Just rest, okay?” he said. I nodded stupidly. It made my head hurt, but I paid it no mind. I just stared at this boy who saved my life.

“What's your name?” I asked him.

“Minho,” he said as he sat down in his chair.

“Will you keep me safe, Minho?” I asked. He looked shocked at the question, but he eventually nodded.

“Yes, I will,” he said.

“I can't go back to him, Minho. I can't,” I said.

“I know. I'll take care of it. Just please rest.”

“Okay,” I said.

Then I laid my head back and closed my eyes. I listened to Minho's breathing beside me and smiled. Then I whispered to him before I fell asleep.

“Thank you."