Date: October 26, 2018

Jisoo’s POV

                     Peeking through the crack of the door, I nervously watched as aboji forcefully grabbed onto umma’s frail wrist, his fingers pressing so hard into her flesh that you could imagine her bones struggling to fight the pressure before they cracked. My heart was drumming.


              “Yeobo, please–for the sake of our children… Please just let this go. Let’s move away, okay? Away from all of this. I promise I’ll help you forget about it,” she whispered as hot tears streamed down her face, barely able to make out audible words. She looked like she had aged a few years within the last half hour. I wanted terribly to do something to help her, but I was numb.
 

              “No, you don’t understand,” he screamed at her, jerking her towards him so that their faces were only an inch apart. His eyebrows furrowed in anger. “EVERYTHING reminds me of her–and you… You are not her.” His frown turned into a grin then into a maniacal chuckle as the last ounces of sanity left his body; he hauled umma towards the cold floor and began beating her.

 

              “Stop it!” I hollered without realizing. My chest was now heaving, hands shaking. He stopped in his tracks and slowly pivoted around and before I caught his wild gaze and watched as his eyes widened in fury. I no longer knew who the man was, and I didn’t have time to process it. The last few seconds seemed to move slowly. He threw the door open, pulled me out from the bedroom and raised his arm, ready to strike me in the face. I closed my eyes and prepared myself.

 

              I jolted awake, body covered in cold sweat, ears ringing. This again? Damn it... My fingers rose to my face, gently tracing the outline of the scar that sat upon my temple. Sometimes, I still felt the pain as if it was fresh–as if I was reliving the same moment over and over again. But this wasn’t the time for my mind to replay past memories; I needed to think and feel as little as possible if I wanted to go the distance. I stretched, allowing my limbs to loosen up any stiffness from last night’s slumber; my entire body was sore.

 

              As I sat straight up, my head hit a ceiling. “,” I muttered under my breath. I had forgotten that I was in an elementary school’s playhouse. With one hand massaging my aching head and the other carefully opening the door, I cautiously scanned my surroundings. The sky was overcast with a tinge of orange; the air smelled of pungent smoke. I listened as the swings creaked to the soft autumn winds. The playground was now covered in dust and grime. Sparsely scattered on the grass were leaves of all colors. I grabbed my phone and pressed the power button, praying that maybe somehow, it would miraculously light up like it always did – but I knew I was just fooling myself. The thing crapped out on October 23rd, marking today as the first month of this calamity. The longer I was out here, the more anxious I felt that I’d eventually lose track of how much time has passed.
 

              I shoved my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, slung my bag and katana over my shoulder and ducked out of the playhouse. I walked over to the fence delicately barricading the campus that overlooked the rest of Seoul and vetted the city. Even at miles and miles away, I could see several streams of black fumes hurtling towards the sky. My stomach churned in agony every time I dared to look, but it was the only thing that could keep my senses acute.
 

              On some days, I accepted reality–on others, I was in denial.

 

              Today, I just wished for September.