I think, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to live…just a little longer.

            Everything started to fade away, but not like it did before. Everything started to get blurry, but not like when he was dreaming. His mind was still very much awake though his body slept peacefully. They gave him some sort of medicine “to numb the pain”, they said. He could hear them whispering, or were his ears failing him? They whispered about how sad it would be when they told his parents he died. They whispered about how unfortunate it was that he probably wouldn’t make it. They whispered and then they laughed and then they complained about having to perform a pointless surgery.

            These words of pain are the last Changhyun heard before he went into the operating room.

            He couldn’t feel anything, he couldn’t see anything, and he couldn’t hear anything. He did not dream, he did not sleep, but instead he existed. Laying there, numb and alone, he could do nothing but wait.

            “Don’t be scared Changhyun.”

After all, I have him don’t I?

            Jonghyun’s voice echoed in his head, but Changhyun could only visualize his friend. His mind remained dark, stagnant.

            “Just think of me. If you get scared, think of me; find me.”

            Find him, he said. So, Changhyun started searching. Every memory he shared with Jonghyun played and replayed through his mind. Every step they took, every word they spoke; it all flashed before his eyes over and over again until they all melted together and the only thing he could see was a boy smiling with his red hoodie pulled over his head.

            But that too faded away.

But…Who is he?

            Changhyun tried to stop it, but his attempts proved futile. Piece by piece, Jonghyun faded from Changhyun’s mind. First went his eyes, then his nose, and mouth, until all that was left was that red hoodie, but that too faded away. No matter how hard Changhyun tried, he couldn’t remember what Jonghyun looked like.

            He searched his mind, frantically running around, flipping through every memory he could think of. From his birth until now, Changhyun searched and searched, but failed to find anything resembling what could be his friend. Slowly, Changhyun fell deeper and deeper into his own mind, but his eyes flew open as he woke up. Or did he wake up?

I don’t remember.

            In a small gray class room, in a large modern school, he sat in his desk, staring out the window. He paid no attention to the words his teacher spoke, or to the whispers of the restless students around him. He only continued to stare out the window from his desk, in the small gray class room, on the fifth floor, of that large modern school.

            He’d been here before, he knows he’s seen this place before. The school bell rang, signaling a break for the busy students, and he stood from his desk. Carefully he stood up and walked out of the classroom, only to be pushed back in.

            “Where do you think you’re going, short stuff?”

I do remember them.

            Before him stood four boys, all of whom used to be his friends. He backed up, trying to get away from the threat, but the walls acted like a cage, boxing him in. They began to hit him. They punched, and kicked, and shouted things that no one should ever have to hear.

            “You’re worthless,” they told him. “You’re pathetic,” they taunted him. “You’re weak,” they taunted him.

            “Come on Changhyun, why don’t you just die?”

            They laughed and laughed like his pain was the funniest thing in the world. No one came to save him, and no one bothered to even look into that class room where they tormented him. There they stayed for all of their lunch break; Changhyun slowly breaking, and his attackers trying to break him

They hurt me

            They finally stopped just before the bell rang for students to go back to class. They laughed some more, telling Changhyun not to worry because they’d be back, and left Changhyun alone in that classroom. Not even a minute later, students started fililng back into the classroom, and wordlessly Changhyun stood from his spot on the ground, where he was beat, and sat down in his desk.

            As before, he stared out the window, paying no heed to the teacher, but all around him, the whispers of his classmates bore into his mind.

            “Look at his face; it’s all bruised.”

            “He’s so weird.”

            “He never talks to anyone. I wonder if he’s mute.”

            “He’s a freak.”

            “I bet everyone hates him.”

            “I doubt anyone would care if he just died.”

and mocked me.

            Outside, the sky began to turn dark with storm clouds. As thunder and lightning clashed over head, Changhyun became lost in the sounds of the roaring thunder. He blocked out the whispers as the sky started to cry on the earth below. It’s like the sky knew that he wanted to cry. How he wished to be outside in the rain if only so that it would mask his tears.

            The storm did not let up even after school ended. Alone in the rain, Changhyun walked home. It was a long walk, and one that he didn’t particularly enjoy. He had to pass by an alley. He was always afraid that he’d be attacked, and if it weren’t for the rain, he would have never been attacked.

I remember him.

            “I want all of your money. Now.”

            Dressed in rags, a man, only a few years older than Changhyun, held a knife to his throat. The cold metal pressed against Changhyun’s throat felt eerily familiar: A straight, double edge, freshly sharpened, and the handle looked smooth and black, but felt like wood. He smelled like wet garbage and alcohol, his breath reeked of tobacco, and worst of all his voice sounded familiar.

            “Hyung?”

He betrayed me,

            It was almost inaudible, but the man still heard it. His grip around the knife tightened, but he did not move again.

            “Changhyun, just give me the money.”

            His own brother is robbing him? Changhyun wanted to be surprised, but found that he couldn’t. His brother abused him for years. As soon as his brother’s life started to spiral downwards, he blamed Changhyun for all of it. It’s Changhyun’s fault his boss fired him. It’s Changhyun’s fault he dropped out of high school. It’s Changhyun’s fault he became a drug-addicted alcoholic. It’s all Changhyun’s fault, it always has been, and it always will be.

            First him, then everyone else followed. One by one, Changhyun lost all of his friends. They began to blame Changhyun for everything. Somehow, it was always Changhyun’s fault. It always has been and always will be. As much as he wanted to, Changhyun still couldn’t cry. Hot tears wanted to run down his face, but the cold rain told him to be strong, just for a little longer. So, Changhyun handed over all of his money, and his brother let go, running off into the alley.

and then they all betrayed me.

            Alone in the rain, again, Changhyun walked home.

            Home.

            No, home is where the heart is. Changhyun’s heart didn’t belong here. This is merely the house in which he lives with the two people who are supposed to love him.

I remember them.

            Walking into that house felt like walking into a nightmare. Before he even opened the door, Changhyun could hear screaming from inside the house. His ears were met with exactly what he expected. Back and forth, his parents fought. They called each other names, accused each other of things, and fought with each other.

            Changhyun winced as he heard a plate shatter on the kitchen floor. His mother yelled, his father cursed, and Changhyun’s soft “hello” went unnoticed. Their familiar screaming match carried on. Curses flew left and right, a fist here, a slap there, but the words that haunted Changhyun the most could always be heard at the end of their fights.

“Why don’t you just die?”They whisper to each other.

            Silently, he walked through the house, past the kitchen, and up the stairs into his room. He locked the door, took a blanket from his bed, and hid in his closet, just like he always did.

They’re supposed to love me,

            This happened every day. For hours they fought. They screamed, and they hit each other. This is why Changhyun hates violence. He hates it when he’s hurt at school because he’s already hurt at home. He hates it when his brother threatens him because his parents pose a big enough threat by themselves. He hates this. All of this.

            His blanket isn’t enough. He can still hear the shouting and the pain through his thin blanket. Without looking, he pulls clothes down from their hangers. Shirts, pants, and jackets fall down on him until he’s nearly buried under a mound of clothes. There’s only a little hole in the pile left open for him to see through the mass of clothing.

but all they do is fight.

            He grabbed the closest thing to him, and looked down at what he found: A red hoodie. It felt familiar, safe; it felt warm. He held the hoodie close to him, unwilling to let go even if the world were to open up and swallow him whole. He really wished it would.

            He laid there for no more than a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, Changhyun peeked out from under that pile of clothes. He thought he was imagining things, but maybe ti was real. A boy in a red hoodie, just like the one Changhyun was holding, stood by the door to his room. Suddenly, Changhyun couldn’t feel the red hoodie in his arms anymore.

So, who is he?

            Without thinking, he jumped up from under the mound of clothes and sprinted towards the boy, but the boy ran off, down the stairs, out of the house, and back towards Changhyun’s school. Changhyun followed as best he could. He didn’t even think of his parents as he zoomed past them, although they turned to yell at him. He didn’t even notice that the sky stopped crying, or that when he passed by the alley, his brother sat against the brick wall ready to drive that knife into his heart. He didn’t even notice his four tormentors hanging around the school as he raced by the front gate, still following the boy in the red hoodie.

            Running down the halls, towards the nearest staircase, Changhyun suddenly tripped and fell hard on the ground.

            “Hey Changhyunnie, what’cha doing here so late? I thought school ended already.”

            The boy was all but forgotten as the four circled him, watching him like a hawk.
 

            “What do you think boys? It looks like our Changhyunnie wants to be taught a lesson?”

            “Aish Niel, stop playing games; let’s just get to it.”

            “But Byunghun, where’s the fun in that? Let Niel have his fun. Games are nice.”

            “Of course you’d say that, Chanhee. You’re just as sadistic as they are.”

            “Come on Minsoo, we all know you love breaking things.”

            They laughed as they talked about how they’d torture Changhyun. They took turns punching and kicking him. They switched off how they inflicted pain. Sometimes they used their fists, and other times they used their words. Changhyun couldn’t tell which hurt more. His pale, milky skin began to bruise darks shades of purple. As he was tortured and tormented, he began to feel numb.

            He began to think that, maybe, it’d be okay to die.

            Slowly, so painfully slowly Changhyun felt himself going numb. Every punch, every kick, and every cruel taunt began to hurt less and less. Soon, he couldn’t even feel the cold tile floor beneath him. Slowly, his vision failed him. The image of the shoes and hands that hurt him became dull and gray.

            “Wake up.”

I need to know.

            It was a whisper, ever so faint, but Changhyun heard it echo through his head. With what little strength he had, Changhyun lifted his head to look down the hallway. It looked gray and dull, and slowly it all began to blur, but he saw him very clearly: That boy in the red hoodie. He stood by the stair case that led to the roof and gave Changhyun only one glance before sprinting off.

            He had to get away. He had to see that boy again. He had to run from his pain. Though all his strength had left him long ago, Changhyun willed himself to get up and run. He could feel every single bruise on his body, and they hurt, but he kept going. He could hear his tormentors running after him, screaming curses and cruel jests, but he kept going. He could feel himself slowly falling apart, but he kept going.

            He burst through the door and frantically ran around the roof, but stopped soon after. The boy was nowhere to be found, but there was the red hoodie, lying on the ground. Changhyun picked up the jacket and held it close to himself, hugging it as if it could make him forget about all of the bad things.

            “Ah, so our Changhyunie thought he could run away?”

            Changhyun’s tormentors stood behind him, furious that their prey had momentarily escaped their vicious claws. The tallest of they who looked like his friends, the one who he thought looked like his friend who had big lips and loved to sing, stepped closer to Changhyun. The biggest of they who looked like his friends, the one who a very familiar cap, said something aloud, but Changhyun couldn’t hear it. The happiest of they who looked like his friends, the one with a taunting smile, handed the tallest something to hold. The shortest of they who looked like his friends, the one who hurt him the most, looked at Changhyun only once before looking at the ground, but he smiled a smile so dark and cruel.

            They moved one step closer, and Changhyun moved one step back. The one who seems happy circled Changhyun, teasing him, and the tall one laughs. His laugh echoed through the air as fear took a firm hold of Changhyun’s mind. In one swift movement, the big one ran up to Changhyun, but as much as Changhyun willed himself to move, he found that he couldn’t. Changhyun wanted to collapse again, but the big one held him up. The short one approached with a knife in hand. It was a straight, double edged blade, freshly sharpened, and the handle seemed smooth and black, but looked like wood.

            With that dark smile still on his face, the short one stabbed the blade into Changhyun’s stomach. With one hand on Changhyun’s shoulder, he leaned in to whisper in Changhyun’s ear,

            “Why don’t you just die?”

            Like four shadows, they disappear all too quickly with the setting sun. In a puddle of his own blood, Changhyun laid on the cold concrete of the roof of that large modern school. Now, he thinks, definitely, it’d be okay to die. No one would miss him, right?

            For the last time, Changhyun willed himself to get up. Slowly, so painfully slowly he walked to the edge of the building. Looking down at the ground below, Changhyun saw an escape from his pain. He saw the red hoodie lying on the bushes below. Yes, that hoodie; that boy in that red hoodie. Surely, if he were to fall over the edge and retrieve that hoodie, then he’d see the boy, and his pain would be gone, right?

            The only thought running through his mind was to escape the pain and get that red hoodie, so without much forethought, he jumped over the edge of the roof, plummeting to the ground and a certain death.

            “Changhyun, wake up.”

But surely I already know him.

            “Changhyun, please wake up.”

            With a jolt, Changhyun woke up that morning. His eyes burst open, and he shot up into a sitting position, only to double over in pain. Suddenly a warm body tackled his. As bright light surrounded him, someone cried into his shoulder.

 I’m not sure how I could have forgotten you,

            “I thought you were gone.”

            Changhyun observed his surroundings, and found himself in a hospital. The walls remained a dull gray, as did the curtains and door, but outside the window he saw a beautiful blue sky. The sun’s warm, ambient rays shone through the window, and sky gently cried, as if happy to see Changhyun alive and well. Inside the room, Changhyun found beautiful flowers in vases that decorated the dull space. Finally he saw he was surrounded by his friends, family, and most importantly, him.

Jonghyun.

            Jonghyun cried as he held on to Changhyun. He is real. Jonghyun is really real. He’s not just a dream. Jonghyun sat beside Changhyun in that hospital bed, in his red hoodie, hugging Changhyun with tears flowing from his eyes. None of it was a dream; not his parents happily smiling beside each other, his father tenderly holding his mother, not his friends, who stood near the window looking both relieved that Changhyun lived and apologetic for all they’d done, and not his brother, who was there, even if he still dressed in rags and sipped from a beer bottle every few seconds.

            That pain, that violence, that betrayal, it didn’t exist; not anymore. Here Changhyun was with his friends, his parents, his brother, and Jonghyun, and they were all happy.

You know, if it could stay like this forever,

            A nurse sat in his office, filing paper work. Busy as ever, he sighed, disappointed, as his friend came by to give him more paper work.

            “Yes, Eric?”

            “I’ve got a death report for you, Andy.”

            “Another one? Huh.”

            “Wait, ‘another one’? How many death reports have you filed today?”

            “Just one, but Jun Jin came by not even a minute ago to give it to me. This kid, Yoo Changhyun, attempted suicide. His parents were fighting, on the verge of divorce, his brother is a drug-addicted alcoholic, and apparently, his was bullied at school by friends.”

            “Oh, poor kid. Did his family or friends ever come to visit?”

            “I think so? Jun Jin said his parents and the kids who attacked him came by once. I guess they feel guilty. Don’t know about the brother though.”

            “Ah…Hey, what did you mean by ‘attempted suicide’?”

            “Well apparently, something didn’t want him to die when he jumped off of the building. The paramedics found him lying on a red hoodie, but it’s unlikely that it could’ve broken his fall enough so that he wouldn’t die. He was admitted six days ago, stayed in room 1004 with that kid in the coma. He had a few fractured ribs and a kinfe lodged in his left lung, so today he was supposed to have a surgery that could possibly save his life, but he died in the middle of it. It was 6:09 in the morning to be exact”

            “You know, that’s really weird. This death report here is of that kid in the coma in room 1004. When I found him dead, he was somehow wearing a red hoodie instead of a hospital gown, and he died at exactly 6:10 this morning.”

            “….That’s strange.”

            “Do you think they were connected or something?”

            “Ha…Maybe in their dreams.”

I think, maybe, it’d be okay to die, because we can live together in our dreams.

Sup?

Am I allowed to write authors notes? I guess so, but this is for a contest....oh well.

You know, I really don't like how I formatted the text for this one. I mean, In "That's What Dreams Are Made Of" the text formatting was pretty cool, but I think this is just confusing. Probably not going to do that again. What did you think of it? Four seperate colors (one for the actual story, Changhyun's dialouge, Jonghyun's dialouge, and the thoughts of who ever's point of view the chapter was in) seemed to be a bit much. Maybe if I did the grayed out thoughts in red and left the dialouge all black, it would've been better. Next time, next time....

Was that confusing? I think it was a little confusing. Just a little, but it still made sense, right?

If it didn't make sense to you, then I'll explain it just a little. The chapters tend to jump around, but stay mainly in the dream world. Here, the main part of the chapter was the events that occured on the day that Changhyun tried to commit suicide. Whether or not Jonghyun was really guiding him is up for you to determine, but both of them really did die...or are they alive in their dream world without knowing they're really dead?

Who knows?

I don't.

Acutally I do, but I'm not telling you.

Okay, that was a lie, I told you a few seconds ago...

Thanks for reading! Please comment on how I did; I really enjoy constructive criticizm.

(On a side note, special thanks to badvolkan91. You always read and comment on my stories, but I never comment and rarly read yours. I'm so sorry, and you're so wonderful!)

Peace yo.