"I am stuck

in this threatening maze

of yours."

It is the middle of the night, and I am alone. The moon is just a sliver, just a little white in a sea of black. It is the start of the fifth day, and I don't think I could stand if I wasn't tied to a chair. It has been so long, years, since I stood, although I know it has only been days, but it feels so long. The lights from bulbs have washed out all the stars, so there is none, as if fate knew they would comfort me, so they were taken away. This is one of the only moments I can feel peace; when I am alone, when my eyes won't stay shut, when the moon is in the sky and the harsh light is on the other side of the world. 

I don't dare to make too loud breaths, or a cough, as if a single sound could wake the devils. I am sane; I am still sane. But I know I cannot hold out much longer, but I will try. I will hope. I will hope that they will come back for me, that they will love me enough to miss me. I hope that Joon will love me, in his own way, and I hope he thinks of me.

It starts with a rumble. Just a small shake, and then the growl turns to a roar, and through the thick glass of the window in the room, I can see a silver stream rush past, a loud sound blaring out as it passed me. It always passed me, and I can always see a flash of the people in it, and I always wish to see someone, anyone. I don't have to know them; I don't have to feel connected. I just have to see others, to assure my mind that I and them are not the only people left in the world, that there are still people that care about me, in a good way. This is a ritual of mine, after only days, to watch the trains, and I have started to hear the whistle of the train, loud and high, in my haunted dreams. 

I cannot hear the train now. I cannot smell the onions, the pumpkins and spice. I cannot feel the hot breath on my ear, the fingers through my hair. I cannot feel the knife cutting into me, the teasing of a finger now, and it is relief to have a single second free. But my mind is a cage, and I am a bird; weak and ugly and shriveling into nothing. I am a weak bird trapped in a cage that not even a strong bird could break. I will never get out. I will only dream that I do, I will only think that I do. I will only wish. 

I move, shift, and Cheondung in the corner jumps, but I don't look at him, I don't look at the hyung who is afraid of me, is afraid of what I am. I do not blame him. But I am just curious. I lift my hand, and as I do, the bare light hits the bones, so prominent through my skin. In the light, I can see every vein below my skin, every pulse of blood that my heart is sending me. I wonder what would happen if that blood would come to the surface. 

I wonder if the blood would be as black as it was. 

I lift a nail, and as I do, I see the dirt buried under the fingernail, the dirt in my fingerprint, and I wonder how it got there. Mutely, distantly, because that is how I live now. Not gone, not there, not anywhere. Just here. That may make no sense, but it does to me. I press my nail to my hand, where I can see a vein just below my translucent skin. I feel pain, but it is not pain. It is just what you feel, everyday. It is what you live with. It is what I lived with.

As I press deeper, my nail making a crescent moon in my skin, a thought crosses my mind. That knife. How did it get there, on the sand, next to me? They must have sent it to me, to give me my pain. Maybe I cannot live a day without pain. Maybe they are just helping me. Maybe they are just keeping me alive. And if they are keeping me alive, then Cheondung and Byunghee and Seungho and Joon are not. Who is helping me? Who is building the maze around me, and who is trying to tear it down?

I look down, and to my relief, I see a bead of blood has started to form. It is the middle of the night, and the blackness is evident in this little room. Cheondung will not see me. I need to do this. I need to save myself, to live one more day. I press down with my nail, harder and harder, as a drop of blood trickles across the landscape that is my hand, to my fingers, and quivers on my fingertip, deciding. It falls, and another drop follows, and another, and another. 

And I feel the pain, the life saving pain, come, and I almost sigh in relief, but I stay silent. This is not pleasurable. Life is not pleasurable. But life must be lived, and this must be done. It must be done. 

I'm sorry, whoever you are. I'm sorry I made you to be this way, I'm sorry I am hurting you, but I am also hurting myself. I am sorry, for my tainted memories are taking over your clean ones. I'm sorry, for I am invading you. I'm sorry, for I fear you will never be clean again, and I know it is my fault. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

~~~

The waves are dark, a deep blue. There is no green, no white, nothing but blue. The moon is too far past to be seen in the water, and the stars aren't close enough to show. The sand is suprisingly soft to the touch, and as I sit down, it shifts to fit. Here, the house and the broken Mir and the depressed Joon and the angry Seungho and the sad Cheondung are behind me, and I am all alone, with the sea and the sand and the sky and my blood. My blood is my history, my future, my present. My blood is my truth, my life, my everything. Blood is what Mir's captures wanted, or something like that, and they got it. They got it.

It has been one day. One day, and already, hope is close to extinct. Mir has done nothing but sink, further and further, into the quicksand. Sometimes, like now, I wonder if he is even himself anymore. If he even has control, or if he only has the reins when the world is clear, for seconds before it is plunged into darkness. Like in a thunderstorm, when the power goes out. And you're rushing, you're panicking, you're trying to find what to do and you're trying to save the boy in your arms. But you can't see. We couldn't see, that night. We can't see now, even when the light is on.

~~~

After Seungho hyung leaves, I stay in the closet, my arms wrapped around myself, too tired to reach up to wipe the tears that just keep coming. There would be no point, anyway. Why bother? So I let myself cry, I let myself not care. I want to mourn. I want to mourn Mir. I want to mourn myself. I want to mourn what has been lost, and what has replaced that empty space. I want to mourn everything. I just want to cry, to close my eyes, and when I open them, to go back to the way it was. To the way I want it to be. 

But it can't. This is the way life is, and life must be lived. Life demands to be lived, and life must be lived. 

~~~

Mir is just a shadow, so I can't see anything, but I look anyway. I look to try to find anything, but I just see more shadows, overlaying one another until I can't see what is truth or not. I wish I had the problems I used to have; not enough sleep, messing up a dance move. Something's that seem so petty now but a couple months ago, it would have been the world. It all depends on the situation. It all depends on who you are, and who you are is always changing, always morphing, until it almost so you can't recognize what you used to be.

Can Mir remember who he was? Can he remember what he used to be? 

~~~

There is a maze in Mir's mind, I think. He is stuck in the middle, and we are calling at one side, and his captures are calling at another. It is up to him to decide who to choose. Or he could choose no one. He could choose to disappear, like mist in the morning. I hope he chooses us. I hope he chooses us, because I know we are trying to help him, and I know the others are not. 

I'm the leader, and sometimes I wish I wasn't. This is too much for a human, for someone who just had a dream and ended up in this situation. This is too much for me. 

But I have to. I have to be here for them, because no one else is. But I fear I will fail. And if I do, I'm sorry. I tried my best, but it wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough, and I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.