11

displace

‘They have a park there, right momma?’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘And ice cream too?’

‘Yep.’

‘And a sea world?’

Hayoung glanced down at her daughter with a small smile before kneeling to her level. She placed her hands against her arms, rubbing them gently and adjusting the pink schoolbag on her back as she spoke.

‘I’m sure they do. Maybe they have even more fun stuff than we do! Plus, you'll get to meet some old friends of momma.'

Despite how tantalizing Hayoung attempted making her words with upbeat tones and enthusiastic imaginings, her daughter looked unconvinced. Undeniably grumpy about the decision to leave town, seemingly standing against her will at the bustling train station, and snorting back her relentless sinus infection, Mijin whispered, 'but ya said we could do all that fun stuffs here.'

Her mother sighed, adjusting the dark bangs over the child's forehead before standing up again and taking the latter's pudgy hand in her own. 'We can't stay, Mijin. And that's final.'

Perhaps on any other occasion, Mister Blue – standing behind the pair, looming like a foot shadow in their wake – would have found the young girl's blatant disappointment and crankiness amusing... yet the ghost's mind was far from anything as colourful as such. He could not find it in him to entertain anything apart from the dreadful silence in his mind. Regardless of the steaming trains coming to gradual standstills in the station, the clatter of shoes as people strolled past, or the cries of an odd vendor or two, all he registered was a cold silence. A silence wherein a black and white recollection of last night had played over and over again in his mind like a broken record he could not put a stop to.

He could see the hospital hallway. His form lingering neither here nor there as he watched Mijin enter the quiet general ward to visit her mother, and after a brief exchange with her, was followed by her great grandmother. A woman whose face now accompanied something undecipherable. Something not even Hayoung seemed to register. But judging by the expectant yet fearful ripples in her eyes with Mijin's departure, Mister Blue could feel her anticipation and dread weigh in the air like a physical obstruction.

'I think you should go,' her grandmother said; her eyes welling with unspoken yet unmistakable pain.

Hayoung held her stare helplessly. 'Where?'

'Anywhere but here.'

That night, he had witnessed a star burn itself to ashes. In the silence and in the solitude when her daughter and grandmother had left and the world had closed its eyes, he had witnessed Hayoung crumble. Clutch her arms, dig her fingers into her skin, drop her head and stab her teeth into her bottom lip, when she cried. Mister Blue watched as a canvas of sorrow painted itself in colours so beautiful and yet so tragic.

as violent as midnight thunder cut across the delicate creation of an impressionist. Unsteady hands ruined the exquisite moon flower that had taken years to bloom within the blink of an eye. All light disappeared. Every fish had been plucked from the ocean. Not a shred of warmth or even the notion of it remained... and Mister Blue could do nothing but watch her and the devastation that consumed everything.

And it was a devastation that consumed him as well.

The three boarded the train; two tickets being stamped and clipped and folded by a conductor on-board. Despite Hayoung's b enthusiasm of the supposed 'trip', her daughter did not seem in the least bit convinced of their getaway. Or rather, she did not know the true reason behind why they had so hastily returned to the apartment and left it equally as such.

Why her mother had yanked open and slammed shut drawers and cupboard doors and pulled out handfuls of clothing into a single large bag without sparing a second glance at her surroundings. Why she hadn't breathed a word while she was in there. Why she looked so intent on leaving, that one would imagine she was being asked to do so under duress... but perhaps she was.

Mister Blue had been especially blue that day. He did not seem bothered to respond to Mijin's jibes at eating the peanuts and raisins her mother had bought for them. He did not want candy floss. He did not want cereal. He did not want cheddar chips and he did not want the toffee apple yogurt her mother had brought along for her. All he did was stare out the window across from them, even when the train had continued into the melting evening sun and into the night, and had stopped at five different stations until they were the only three seated in it.

Mister Blue did not move until the next day.

'Where we going, momma?'

'To momma's friend's house,' Hayoung smiled down at her daughter as the two walked hand-in-hand down a terribly deserted street.

'It's not far. I promise.'

'But I'm so tireeeed,' Mijin whined; her complaint only a fraction shorter thanks to the fact that she had to snort the dribbling mucus back up her nose. 'Momma, are we there yet?'

If I had to use the word dreary to describe just what the town we arrived in was like, then that would most certainly be the understatement of a lifetime. I couldn't tell how long we had traveled for. How many minutes, hours, days it had been that we had since boarded the rattling giant that carried us through the rising and setting of the sun. I had no idea how many times the bloated balloon rose and fell. How many light years we spent in that vacuum unchanging.

But standing in front of yet another crumbling building similar to that of the one we had left, it seemed as if we had exited a time capsule. From the bustling streets and the rat race of populace and the dying trees no one seemed to care for on the pavement, we now stood in the middle of a deserted road in an equally deserted town. Not even the glow of the sun behind a thin cluster of gray clouds eased the unease and gnawing concern I felt looking up at the crusty exterior of yet another monolith of secrets.

I did not want to go in. I did not want to risk discovering yet another vicious circle of abuse. I did not want to stand within the confines of white rooms and wooden floors that could hurt Hayoung.

And yet she was the first to enter. Given no choice – the thought of the bench returning to me with a frightening call for attention – I followed the mother and daughter pair; my eyes fixated on them as we maneuvered through monochrome stairwells and passages.

The fact that it was a fraction more decent than the other one didn't help ease my thoughts. I bit my lips, clenched my teeth, opened my mouth to speak—you can't go back anymore—when I noticed Hayoung come to a stop at on