All Himchan could remember was that he passed out on the floor of an institute. He was assigned to do a year-long report on this specific place. Nevertheless, he tried to get up to continue his job, but to no avail.

Slap.

He jerked up, eyes now widened with surprise. There crouched a balding man Himchan could barely distinguish with blurry vision, his companion and junior Junhong, and a younger man which he had absolutely no recognition of. He stood high above and behind the older, expressionless. Himchan pondered over the thoughts running through his head which he tossed away in seconds. His surroundings were glossed over with cloudy patches of white and monotone voices buzzed.

And then he noticed his boss was looking uninterested, a large beige folder in his hand. With an air of boredom he tossed it into Himchan’s lap. Himchan preferred his own little journal that sat in his pant pocket but refused to say anything, words still fumbling in his daze.

“If any more of these incidents happen, Daehyun here will attend to you. Do not disappoint me.” His boss looked up and strode away. Himchan glanced at an expressionless Daehyun, Junhong, and then back at the fading figure.

He wondered why he never retired. He didn’t even like researching.

Journal Entry #1; Research

Date: February 22, 1974

  I am preparing for the journey to the institute. In a few days we will fly to the asylum to dig for more. In my few days of research before the stay, there are an abundance of disorders, different varieties. They are even some I haven’t heard of, like the Cotard delusion and Stendhal delusion (I can’t stand the Stendhal delusion, unable to examine and appreciate art). But the one that intrigues me the most is schizophrenia. It may be common but it does capture my attention.

It can be triggered by inherited genes or due to extreme environment. There are more causes, but I’ll leave at this. There are three sub-units of this disorder: paranoia, disorganized and catatonic. Symptoms are delusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech or thinking and a serious one catatonia, where the victim is fixed in a single position for a long period of time. Scientists believe that the problems with dopamine function in the mesocortical pathway may be responsible for the 'negative symptoms’.

The terrible part is the hallucinations. What if the hallucination was so wonderful?... a piece of work created by the master alone, yet it is not real.

---

The young man brought a bemused Himchan down the corridor. His suitcase and equipment were already placed in the attendants’ room by his assistant; he was told it would be taken care of and he trusted them, although he did not believe it was the best idea to do so. He tried to take in the settings. It was- as he put it- horribly assembled. The place looked like it had been barely scrubbed, floors dappled with sickening patches. Patients and attendants scuttled like ants, ignoring the two. Then Himchan was in the last corridor, isolated, searching for the guide who was behind him a few paces.

Himchan gestured as politely as he could. “Well, go on now.” He felt mildly ridiculed when Daehyun stayed on the spot, shaking his head. Sighing, he headed on, not noticing Daehyun’s mouth urging silent pleas.

The first door was on the left, a panel with the words “Bang Yong Guk” etched with possibly a burin using a drypoint technique. Strange, he thought, for such an old institute to write with materials that the artist Picasso once used. Himchan tried to reminisce the times he practiced and learned art, but all he remembered was the searing pain of rejection and failure, caused by the people he had called family.

Peering into the small window, he instantly regretted it as a raging man charged and crashed his head upon the bars, causing Himchan to stumble back. As he continued along, he found that all the patients in this sector were similar; some deranged, some silent, altogether invidious.

His curiosity drew him to the last door. “Jongup” read the panel in an elegant writing manner, and he was taken by sheer disbelief by the young man who sat within. Such a faultless face did not belong in a hideous straightjacket and especially this institute.

“May I go in?” Himchan questioned, and Daehyun shrugged from afar which Himchan assumed was a knock yourself out gesture, opposite to his previous expression. Himchan opened the unlocked door.

“Greetings and salutations.”

“Jongup” smiled warmly and Himchan, who had his doubts at first, felt like he was welcome.

Journal Entry #2; Institute, Day 

Date: March 3, 1974

  This asylum is alright, mundane. No difference from any others, but then again this is the first one I’ve been in.

  Asylums and mental institutes have been exaggerated; they are not as harmful as people see in the movies (Well, evidently, as all movies give off that vibe). The less dangerous are quite serene and courteous, even though not the talkers. One of the patients in the last sector did not seem to be so bad, seeming sane, even. I ponder on the “reliable” tests the patients take before they enter.

  His name is Jongup. Seventeen years old. We had several trysts and chats. I don’t know of this disorder he has, but it must be kept secret, he said.

The attendants don’t have any problem with him at all, as if a patient from the last sector walking freely was considered typical. Maybe, in ways, he is normal. He is a gentleman even for a juvenile teen.

Even though I just met him, he doesn’t seem to belong there.

Such a shame for a brilliant mind to be caged.

---

As the days passed, the artificial breeze would his eyelids and he would wake up - Jongup on his mind.

He was confused; he wasn’t the type to like someone instantly, more to be cautious over strangers. His parents kept him away from people, and the only “friends” he had were their friends’ children. And even those friends weren't stereotypical bullies who dunked his head down toilets like juvenile inbeciles. They looked down on everything he was proud of, sarcastic and witty comments especially towards his art.

The relationship between the two strangers switched to acquaintances, then friends. He was no longer anxious over the thought of Jongup being as a malign foe.

Nonetheless, Himchan’s research began to decrease in quantity and quality each day, making Jongup the sunshine of his day and the moonlight of his night. As the meetings grew frequent Himchan didn’t notice his lips curled with anticipation.

So when Jongup came sauntering though his door, Himchan grinned in genuine delight, evidently noticeable to the adolescent.

“What are you so happy about?”

“Nothing...” Himchan cursed himself silently for stuttering. “I… I wanted to show you something.”

The younger male the edges, intently staring at the sides dotted with irregular patches.

“He’s called Verity.” Himchan pulled his collar in embarrassment, but Jongup didn’t seem to notice.

“Mm-Hmm.” He murmured absently.

The both of them sat in silence. One broke it, as sudden as it was made.

“Purely scintillating.”

Journal Entry #3

Date: July 10, 1974

Verity, he loved you! A compliment… even from a friend, it must have been from the heart. My hopes are turning! Maybe if I had another chance to work with the best of the best, sharing my art with them and  listening to their wise words. I could learn sculpturing, just like my brother used to.

Excuse my blown out of proportion, unachievable dreams.

---

Himchan felt a surge of anger and adrenaline as he glared at the therapist behind the trolley of medicine. His cocky smile, his flick of shiny bangs, his sophisticated stride… He looked more like a flower boy from high school than a proper therapist, Himchan thought.

Whilst nudging the tray forward, Himchan carefully rose and peeked through the bars, watching Mr. Yoo interrogate Yong Guk. With his gestures he could tell he was charismatic; a spirited but serious smile playing on his lips indicating he was interesting; a reassuring pat on the back to show he was listening and understanding.

Scandal appeared before his eyes as he saw the therapist rise and setting himself on the patient’s lap, snatching a chunk of his hair and his lips.

What came next brought the bile up his juddering throat. If it wasn’t for the solitary, soundless corridor (and that was soon interrupted by the therapist slamming open the door), Himchan would have rushed to the nearest washroom.

Nevertheless, Himchan kept his persistent gaze on the therapist, no matter the waste of time and squatting. As Youngjae visited each cell, Himchan pondered on the memory of the first molestation, wondering if the rest of the patients would have the same “treatment”.

Approaching steps woke up the half-sleeping journalist. Pulling himself a little over the tray, he spied Youngjae look into Room 10, Jongup’s room. After a long, dragged on second of tension, Youngjae ignored the cell, swiftly turning in Himchan's direction.

First, he thought Youngjae was going to molest Jongup, but now he wasn’t even worth his time. Outraged, Himchan waited for him to pass by, and like a predator taking its prey, he made his kill.

Soon the therapist’s blood was being furiously scrubbed off the asphalt.

Journal Entry #4

Date: October 31, 1974

Words aren’t sufficient of what I feel. Why should Jongup be ignored? Is he that bad, for people to avoid him? The answer is no. Unbelievable demeanours, these days…But that isn’t what irks me. Jongup is brilliant, with an IQ over 150, a fanciful taste in music and art, a natural at writing. Simply speaking, he is too good for a lousy therapist. Perhaps I should be glad that Jongup didn't have to be corrupted by him.

---

Light switch off, light switch on, light switch …

Himchan dreamed of turning on the light, rolling aside the curtains, letting the rays shine upon his face. He wondered why the light weren’t like the others, the luminous white flickers of the common. Verily the light wasn’t on at all, shadows blending in the pitch black, not the usually dimming glints. He guessed it was Jongup’s penchant, part of his eccentric personality, but Himchan expected just as much. In fact, he thought his personality complemented his in a peculiar way he couldn’t describe, but got it from his gut feeling.

His instincts struck. Two fingers were placed on the switch, and a slight nudge did well.

Himchan screamed, a high toned shriek he despised once it tore out of his usually husky voice. He suddenly started giggling wildly, obtusely amused at the ultraviolet ink splattered along the walls. Hyperactive slapping of the thigh. Wiping at the eyes. Stopping was not an option and it already came to him that the signs were nothing to laugh at.

“Sick.”

- was the word scrawled on the wall, smacked right in the middle of an expanded version of his treasured painting. The vastness of the word overwhelmed the rest of the painting. Juxtaposed, surrealist-themed acrylic was scratched, torn at the dark corners. With every second the piece of work seemed to leer at him, the top half crinkled up clumsily. Plummeting resonances, tones of every reminisced ordeal racked his brain. Memories who were so longed to be destroyed ran back and devoured his suppressed thoughts. A pleasant, well kept (or so he thought) psyche mutilated by broken dreams.

Himchan had no idea why he was laughing manically and he wanted to stop. Desperately.

He collapsed to his knees, tears lining at his eyes and his hands covering his face. Ingrown nails scraping at the black crooks under his eyes.

Moments later, the painting was coated with blood, while Himchan stumbled back, drunken with euphoria, crimson dripping from his whitened knuckles.

Journal Entry #5

Date: January 1, 1975

  This place seems to rip of remnants of sanity one by one. Staying here is dangerous. The fence is too high and going out of the front would arouse suspicion. Having this research project annulled with paying a high fine is nothing but safe. I feel the eyes on me, every moment.

The money, it's insufficient and I won't get paid. However, have I ever cared about money in the past?

Although I’d be leaving a part of myself behind (even as I hate to admit it), Jongup…

  There are still two more months. I don’t know how long I can stand this.

Jongup isn’t what he seems to be. It was stupid of me to believe I had an accomplice in this tortuous abode.  

I don’t want to be insane. I-I have enough to suffer.

My oeuvre... Verity…

---

“Mr Kim? Are you free to talk now?” The hospice manager asked the man which was furiously scribbling in the minuet notebook. Himchan stuffed it away and looked up with a masked visage, hiding his fear.

He obediently followed the man to the office, taking careful steps as he tried to be friendly to the passing patients. He plastered friendly greetings as he felt weak and hopeless under the eyes of everyone. He longed to glance upon Jongup, however he remembered he belonged to the last chamber and attempted to push away the morbid words.

“So, have you been enjoying your stay?”

“In some aspects, yes I have.” Himchan replied, not letting hesitation cut through. His eyes jerked away from the man’s face, his fists into balls with emotion of all. Such a waste of time, he thought, away from Jongup and was unable to think properly. 

“I’m glad to hear that. As your actions have not been monitored recently, I would like to ask you for feedback.”

“It was… a new experience, past my expertise.” Without thinking, he added on, “As talking of patients, I have made Jongup from Sector 12, Room 10 my test subject.” He lowered his voice, just a few decibels. “What is his purpose for being here?”

The man pushed his glasses up the crook of his nose, confused. “Jongup?” Gruffly hands flicked through the pages of a book with a thin spine, the older’s expression bemused, much to Himchan’s fear. “This person doesn’t seem to be in the archives. Even not located in the deceased pages. Check.” Himchan shrank away from it as the book was pushed towards him.

“Let’s reschedule, alright?” The flustered owner rose. “Keep the files. Your subject’s name should be found here, albeit disorganized.” He left the room to let Himchan bite his lip and gaze at the records.

Journal Entry #6

Date: January 24, 1975

Checked and rechecked. Still no sign of “Jongup” in the Moon section , deceased or miscellaneous category. This must be some kind of mistake, malfunction whilst uploading information.

Yet it all settles before my eyes. Jongup is allowed to exit because the people can’t see him. He writes words on the wall to get into my mind.

Is he a ghost? But he isn’t in the deceased section.

---

And such a malady disguised as a cure came before his eyes. His head down, hand clutched on Verity, gaze fixated to the floor even his neck stung. No one noticed, but he wasn’t worried about that. Where’s that brat Junhong when you need him?

“Going somewhere?” The voice he dreaded grew, Himchan’s heart sinking further. He forgot the beautiful lilt of Jongup’s voice rose into a question, the cadence as he spoke with the sweet Korean accent. A small sigh left his lips.

“What do you want?” Himchan turned to ask, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Aren’t you leaving?” The question went further to imply something.

Himchan heaved a sigh. “Ave Atque Vale, then.”

“A quote in Latin translated into the three words “Hail and farewell” isn’t enough to express your feelings.”

Himchan chose to ignore that statement and the show of his intelligence, pushing through the nurses. He stole a glance at a smooth surface, eyes glossing over the gruff reflection just for a scan. Jongup wasn’t there. As his hand skimmed over the gate, outside of the garden, the voices seemed to disperse. He kept his hand clenched on the painting in his hands.

“Junhong?”

“…Jongup?”

Jongup smiled, but his eyes were devoid of emotion, almost, almost sad. Himchan felt an urge to cry out but his body wouldn’t let him. Tendrils of white and grey slewed and engulfed his torso, forming a straightjacket that bound his arms. A cacophony of static flooded his head. Reality meshed with surrealism as the swimming objects mesmerized him. The only thing he could do was stay rooted to the spot with his heartbeats pounding into his head, hypnotised with fear and regret as his psyche grew deformed with Jongup.

The oeuvre landed on the dirt, dust drifting into the air.

Email #1

Date: February 28, 1975

execute: email.exe – compose

Verity… Why did you have to betray me?

(2700 words approx)

A/N:

Thanks for bearing with my delays and half baked ideas which exhibits my juvenile madness.

Happy (belated) Birthday Jishubunny, hope this was worth the sweat and time  ^^

This will be edited soon, but I'm really sorry for having you to put up with what I have now.