Chapter 5

the people we are, the people we become

The truth of it all is that I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.

I’m trying to live, or at least that’s what I tell myself. I breathe, in, out, like a machine that doesn’t know what else to do.

I can see my breath on cold days. I breathe fire into my hands when I need to remain warm. I see darkness, I feel light.

I think I want to see another sunrise.

Jihyo is smoking, I’ve lost count of how many cigarettes she’s gone through. People do stupid things when they’re stressed. Jeongyeon is standing in the corner, watching me with her beady little eyes. I can tell she doesn’t like me, not after I tried to punch Jihyo in the jaw.

Momo’s got the baton, not trusting Jeongyeon with it. She’s watching us, and when she catches me eyeing her, she gives me a small, pained smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She walks up to me, takes out a handkerchief and begins to wash my face. She asks Jeongyeon to fetch some water. Jeongyeon grumbles something that makes Momo angry.

And it’s the first time I’ve seen Momo angry, she’s not like Sana when Sana gets angry, no, Momo makes me feel frightened. Her eyes darken, she looks over her shoulder, telling Jeongyeon to fetch the goddamned water, if not she’ll whack her over the head with the baton.

Jeongyeon leaves, probably to fetch the water.

Momo scrunches her nose, and only now do I realise that I must smell like the mines, like charcoal and thick smokey air. Jeongyeon returns with a bucket of water. Momo dips her handkerchief in the bucket and begins to wash my face. When Momo pulls her hand away, I see bloodstains on the handkerchief.

Jihyo takes the empty seat beside me, pulling out a small packet from her coat pocket and offering me a cigarette. I take one, knowing it’ll only kill me faster, but I don’t care at this point. I’ve been dying since the day I was born.

«Consider the offer.» Jihyo says. «For your sake and for others. For your friends, your family, your loved ones. So many are counting on you, Dahyun.»

Jihyo pats me on the back and I leave shortly without looking over my shoulder as I wander down the gloomy alleyway. I’m not scared of the patrol officers, not that much, not now when I know that people like Jeongyeon hold the batons.

«I trust you’ll make the right decision.» Jihyo whispers into my ear.

I reach the outpost and wait patiently while a worker checks my papers to see if everything is in order. Before I’m allowed to leave, the woman with the silky brown hair approaches me and hands me an envelope I know I shouldn’t be given.

There it is: the fear that settles in my chest, coils in my stomach. I vigorously shake my head, words failing to express the worry which has taken hold of my heart. She must have the wrong person. Surely she can not be this stupid. Something like this will most definitely get her killed. 

«Don’t worry, I am Im Nayeon, I’m one of you, I’m Jihyo’s friend. She wanted me to give you this.»

I narrow my eyes at her, wanting to tell her I’m not like her, like any of them. I never will be.

Nayeon waits, thinking I might not take it. She slowly pulls away, and I see the dread and terror in her eyes, because what if I’m not the one she was supposed to give it to?

I could call the other patrol officers. I could destroy her life. I could have her sent to the mines where she’ll be working till her hands bleed or maybe to the underground chambers where they’ll probably cut out her tongue.

But I’m not like that, never have been. But the scary thing is that I understand now, I know why people tell on others and how we can turn on each other with the snap-of-a-finger… it is power.

And power quenches thirst when water can’t.

«When?» I ask.

«When what?»

«When did she give this to you? How did she know?»

«Jihyo knows everything, sees everything.» Nayeon replies.

«I’m not a carrier pigeon.» I mumble as I shove the envelope away.

«Give it to Son Chaeyoung then, she’ll probably take it.» 

The walk home is longer, longer than I feel it has ever been. My legs are numb, my head is spinning. I can taste blood on my tongue, and my stomach is empty and growling, threatening to wake up the neighbourhood.

Some people have lit candles and put them in their windows, some houses are completely dark and trying to blend into the night. I hear whispers of terror, of fright, of revolution and of burning things.

They may be real; the whispers, or it may be all in my head.

«Where have you been?» My mom asks when I stumble through the door.

She walks up to me, scowling as she grabs me by the nape of my neck, pulling me towards the kitchen counter. I hear her swear and mutter other filthy words.

«You smell like smoke.» She says and hands me a cup of water. It’s lukewarm.

I take one big gulp, tasting the gravel, and I feel like spitting the water out.

«Have you been smoking cigarettes?»

My mom leans in close, inhaling the scent wrapped around me. She swears again, and pulls the cup away from my hands. She pours some water into her palm and smears the water over my forehead and across my cheeks, washing away the soot on my face and trying to get rid of the smell.

«Dahyun! Answer me!»

«So what if I have!»

«Where did you get it from?»

«Nowhere.»

«What do you mean nowhere?» She takes a step back, grabs my jaw and makes me look at her. «I’m not stupid. I’m your mother. Now tell me.»

«The Workers Community.» I quickly whisper, darting my eyes away from hers.

«Who did you meet?»

Her grip on my jaw tightens. I wince.

«Chae.»

«Chae? Chaeyoung didn’t give you the cigarettes. She doesn’t even smoke!» She says and leans in closer, scrunching her nose as the smell of smoke and cigarettes wash over her.

«Where did you two go?»

I wonder if all moms are like mine.

«We went to a Resistance Party meeting. There. That’s it.» I seethe.

My mom squeezes my shoulder, hard, enough to make me wince.

«You fool,» she says, «that’s exactly what your brother did before he became a member and now he’s gone.»

She doesn’t look at me while she speaks. Her gaze falls to the ground, her hand around my shoulder slackens, and I suddenly see it: the pain and the anguish of losing a child.

I lost my brother and my mom lost a son. He was taken by someone. The Guild? The Resistance Party? He’s gone now and I’m all that my parents have left. And there it is again: that sinking fear that keeps growing in me. I must be a constant reminder of what my parents lost.

This is my birthplace, I am a miner. This is who I’ve always been. Who else would my parents see when they look at me, if not a shadow of their son?