Bang Yongguk rests his head against the concrete wall, its bare skeleton exposed under the grey skies. Covering his eyes with his left hand, he lets out a slow, deep sigh. His hand soon drops weakly to his side. His face is covered in grey dust and the dried remnants of blood—who knows whose blood it is, at this point. His clothes have lost the vibrance they once had, now covered in the same grey dust that covers the young man, who had just turned 21. The only detectable sign of life from him are his two eyes sparkling, contrasting the gloomy atmosphere of the remains of the town.

It’s been harder to tell the time by just looking at the sky recently. Before, Yongguk could easily look up to find the sun or the stars that shined above the world and find the time of the day or the night, wherever he was. Now, the grey dust hovering in the air seems to have hidden everything that belonged with the light. Yongguk reaches out to the air, grasping for something that’s not there—

He makes a fist, draws in his hand and stares at it. Another sigh. He stands up and brushes off the dust from his pants.

No time to rest.

No time for breaks.

This building used to be a dorm, he reminds himself. He remembers walking around the high walls of this prestigious private school, dreaming of the life beyond the walls, the life of uniforms and happy chats about a hopeful future. Such luxuries were never available to him, born to a poor mailman who died in a car accident, leaving the nine-year-old orphaned. He lived, though—he survived by following the rules of the streets. He obeyed when he had to, endured slaps and blows if he had to, stole when he was starved. He sold icicles in the summer, sold gums and snacks year-round.

The private school students were allowed some free time outside their high walls, and when they were outside, they always went around in groups. Yongguk clearly remembers what one kid had said years ago—it is a mystery that such an insignificant memory has lasted until now.

“The principal said we shouldn’t be alone out here, it’s dangerous,” the kid had muttered to his friend. Yongguk, alone, handed the boy an icicle from his heat-proof bag. The face of the boy has faded over time, but Yongguk can recall the details clearly. How the boy’s chubby pale fingers slowly opened his wallet, how it was full of bills, bills that could feed Yongguk for months—

Then the coins were in Yongguk’s hands and the boy left.

Yongguk shakes his head to clear his mind of useless memories of the past. The boy was young, and Yongguk was younger. The boy might have found some well-paying job after he graduated. Maybe inherited his father’s business. Living the life Yongguk could never have.

But does it matter now that everything’s gone?

The walls crumbled down a few days ago. That night he hid in the dumpster, the sour smell in the air painfully stabbing his nose, the distant sound of bombs going off over and over. He was too old to cry, he is an adult now… But he couldn’t help feeling the strange emotion of vacancy as he saw the world of his dreams trampled by weapons and the stupidity of those with power. Kill, destroy, kill, until something they like happens.

What were they, three-year-olds?

Yongguk’s brief ‘tour’ of the school is coming to an end. This is the last building. Dormitory, where all those boys stayed together with their friends. Friends. The word rings oddly in his mouth as Yongguk whispers it to himself.

This building seems to have suffered the worst. Judging by the size of the building, at least a few hundred kids must have been sleeping here when the bombs hit. He peers into the large gap in the wall of the dorm building. So many kids here, now… dead?

Yongguk breaths in the odd odour of the air. He’s reminded of how many corpses are likely lying around in this building. Everyone was here when the raid happened. Never had time to escape. Never had any warning. The sirens didn’t go off that night. Silent, too silent perhaps, then the bombs rained down.

Yongguk remembers, even from miles away, how he could faintly hear the screams of the people.

He exhales slowly.

It’s time to move on now. Time to go find food, find a place to stay, a place to hide.

All of this is pathetic evidence of the past.

Yongguk tries to take a step away from the building, away from the dark hollow gap in the wall.

Then...

“...h…”

A sound. Yongguk stops.

Barely loud enough to be the sound of the wind, but still a sound. For some reason it clearly bore into his eardrums. Yongguk peers into the gap once more. The sound repeats.

“H..He…”

Now he can clearly tell it is a voice. Somewhere, deep in the darkness where the dead lie…

Something is calling to him.

He realizes that he is standing in the light, and the… sound source in the dark. Something is moving. Toward him, toward the light.

Usually, movement indicates life.

Or zombies, or ghosts, Yongguk corrects himself in his head. But those aren’t real.

“Help…” Yongguk can now clearly tell that the sound is a voice. Something moving… the silhouette of a lanky man. Slowly, slowly dragging his feet.

As the figure comes nearer, Yongguk can hear its voice clearer.

“Hello...are... are you—” the voice croaks, and it is only then that Yongguk realizes that it’s not a man that stands before him. Higher-pitched voice, chubby cheeks… if you just stared at this person’s face, you’d definitely take him to be a kid. His height—he is perhaps as tall as a fully grown man—had Yongguk mistake him for an adult.

The figure finally reaches the hole in the wall and kneels before Yongguk, rendering him stiff. A boy. Wearing white pyjamas, looking up to him with eyes welled up with tears, grabbing on his ankle as though he’s clinging for life. It’s a kid, kid who went to this school, a kid who survived the raid…

“You’re real,” the boy says hoarsely. “You’re… you’re alive.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Yongguk mutters under his breath.