.03
On Rainy DaysI couldn't help but be curious...
Lu Han's eyes opened only to meet complete darkness. The surrounding air was silent and still, and his thick blanket felt as if it were smothering him. Rain pounded rhythmically against his window pane, which usually would have lulled him back to sleep but instead made him feel restless. His eyes shifted to the sheer window curtain made luminous and transluscent by the moon and streetlights below. He moved his hand out from under the bed cover, away from the suffocating heat, and relished the fresh air on his clammy skin. Knocking away keys and a bottle of water his bedstand, he fumbled blindy for his phone.
2:15 AM
Damn... Was it still so early? Though he hadn't gotten even three full hours of sleep, Lu Han knew he wasn't going to get peace of mind. Throwing off his bedcovers in one swift motion, he swung out of bed dressed in only a thin grey t-shirt and black basketball shorts.
In only a few minutes he was crouched in the attic with the single beam of his flashlight as his only source of vision. In his hands was the small, cloth box, which he examined carefully before opening. Pale fingers fished out the first piece of paper labeled '1/126.'
Why exactly was he so drawn to the scriptures? Lu Han wasn't even sure himself, but he was certain these papers held something special, perhaps something special enough to jumpstart his writing.
Squinting his eyes in an attempt to adjust his vision to the dim light, Lu Han began to read.
He awoke to the sound of his doorbell. When had he fallen asleep? He frowned, trying to recall what he could last remember. He'd stayed up the rest of the morning to plan more of his novel before he'd decided to order breakfast through delivery from the bakery next door. Ah... Was this his food?
Lu Han ran his fingers through his bangs in a desperate, but unsuccessful attempt to tame his unruly hair, scampering down the stairs quickly to open the door, his stomach already rumbling. As sunlight poured into his dim house, a familiar face greeted the novelist, a face that made his eyebrows furrow in irritation.
"You..!" he spluttered, hand already hovering over the doorknob in preparation to slam it shut. He recognized the light brown hair, the tall and lanky frame. It was the same nuisance who had troubled him in the rain the other day. "What are you doing at my house?"
The boy scoffed and held up a plastic bag indifferently. "You ordered this, didn't you? I make the deliveries for my Aunt. Our bakery is literally right next to your house, so I don't get why you can't just walk over to buy something yourself. You a hermit, or just really lazy?"
The novelist leered in agitation, completely put off by the teenager's obvious lack of a filter. Was it possible for anyone to be this irritating?
"What I don't get is how my life is any of your business, kid," he hissed, snatching the plastic bag pointedly from the boy's hands.
"Gee, well sorry for asking," the boy shrugged loosely. With that, he turned away to a bicycle parked on the side of the curb, though Lu Han noted with quiet fury the smug grin plastered on the teenager's face that made him painfully aware that he was still wearing his pajamas.
The novelist lingered by the open doorframe a few seconds, watching the light-haired youth swing onto his bike and pedal away. He was intrigued by the kid's carefree nature, though he supposed that was typical for a teenager, anyway. A frown still gracing his lips, Lu Han shut the door and went back to work.
Why am I alive?
Zhang Yixing found himself mulling over this question once again, just as he had every other night lying awake on the floor, allowing the darkness to devour him as the seconds passed by achingly slow. Another sleepless night, for it seemed the dull buzzing in his legs was enough to keep him from falling asleep. It wasn't painful, but the sensation was a constant reminder that Yixing was no longer useful to the world... And that was horrifying enough.
When he was a child, he had witnessed the older kids hurl stones at a crippled stray. In disbelief and horror, the young boy had run to his father and begged him to get the children to stop, but his father hadn't moved. It was simple, cruel fact, his father had lectured, that the world only had enough room for those who could contribute something. When something ceased to bring purpose to the world, it would die. If you couldn't survive on your own, you were eliminated. That was simply the way the world worked.
But if all that was true, why was he still alive? After a terrible fever, Yixing had barely escaped death, but was left with legs rendered useless. Without the ability to walk or run, what use was he to his family? Things would have been simpler had he died instead, so that his father wouldn't have had to work twice as hard to buy his son medicine for his illness, so that his mother wouldn't have to feed an extra mouth that couldn't even stand up, much less help her with chores.
Yet he didn't want to die. Even though he had lost his purpose to the world, he still wanted to live. Even if he could only crawl around miserably for the rest of his life... Yes, he still wanted to live. There was nothing in him that accepted death, nothing that welcomed it. And so, the second question posed itself. If purpose to the world wasn't the reason of existence, the reason to live...
Then what was?
Comments