(What’s on your mind?)

The truth is everyone has a dark side, and everyone is a monster deep within. The only way to escape the fatal darkness is to believe in who we truly are.

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Howon has less to worry that particular morning, because he remembers when he wakes up this morning, he is greeted by the sight of her cooking breakfast. She flashes him, the warmest and with the most enthused smile of hers (that he has seen so far), as she invites him to join in for breakfast.

Right across his sight, from the small, square sized dining table he sits at, Howon watches how this fragile girl of yesterday beams into this bright sunshine, humming unfamiliar tunes, while matching the pieces of the still uncompleted puzzle, she bought a few days ago. She sits gracefully on the tiled floor, with her folded legs, and hair tied in a messy bun. The sweet smell of the white coffee fills his nose, as he takes a sip of it before he gingerly cuts a small piece of the pancake from the ceramic plate, and lifts it towards his mouth.

Bliss, he feels pure bliss. He has gotten used to this deliciously similar taste, ever since he tasted the first batch of pancakes she made days ago. The sweet, buttery flavour of the pancake itself complemented the special syrup she adds with, and Howon wonders, if the recipe is passed down through generations, since there’s this distinct flavour that sets it apart from the rest of pancakes that he has tasted before.

“Thank you,” He mutters first, breaking the little amount of silence, which is accompanied by the scrooping noise of the ceiling fan.

From where she sits, she gawks at him, and smiles a little, “For?”

“For this delicious breakfast,” He beams, “And for some other domestic things you did, like those groceries, and the dustbin. I’m not really the most hygienic person in the world, as you can probably see it already,”

“You’re welcome,”

She chuckles a bit, before diverting back her attention towards the puzzle, which is rather far from complete.

Howon takes a sip of his white coffee, wondering if he should entertain this urge to strike more conversations with her. “Bomi,” he lets her name slips off his tongue before he could stop himself.

“Umm?” She looks up; whilst her right hand matches a piece of the puzzle at the middle, end corner of the frame.

“This pancake, did you learn the recipe from someone?”

There’s this somewhat long silence, and when Bomi doesn’t answer him straight away, Howon wonders if he has said something wrong.

“Mother,” She mumbles, “I learnt it from my mother,”

“I see,”

“But she’s dead. Dead for good,”

Howon freezes, a shiver runs down his spine. And, it’s not because of the cold. “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be,” She replies him almost too quickly. A meek scoff eventually escapes from , “You can’t bring back a dead person, so please, don’t be sorry,”

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“How’s your assignment doing?” The much older guy, with his half-glasses peers at Howon, who sits right across him at the vacant seat in front of him. There’s this routine of his, of meeting his professor in every two weeks.

“It’s on its way,” Howon replies, with a rather formal tone, and sets his back straighter. “Though, I’m still pretty much working on it,”

Mr. Kim takes a sip of his coffee, before he puts the cup down to resume on flipping the thick pages of documents on his desk. “By the way, I’ve read the essay you wrote last autumn,”

“It’s good,” He remarks, and adds in, “Good as ever,”

Howon beams, “Thank you,”

“Happy families are all alike, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,” The older one, adds in, before peering at him carefully again. He smirks, when he sees the sudden change in Howon’s expression.

Howon remembers writing the sentences; he remembers the countless nights he spent to assemble his thoughts and inexistent imaginations into pretty words. He nods away, blinking his eyes, knuckles turn into white.

“Differences in the matter of opinions are always the issue, right?”

He doesn’t say a word.

“Those late night arguments where unintended, and repressed cruel words are exchanged, those I hate you(s), and less I love you(s),”

He keeps still.

“I’ve been there, done that, and as much I would say, I had never regretted anything I’ve done in the past, but the truth is I do,”

The older one closes the documents, and rests both of his arms on top of the desk, “You ran from the reality,”

“Are we done?” Howon cuts in. “I have lectures to attend to,” He slings his bag pack over his shoulder, before getting up, ready to leave the room.

“Hey, Howon?” Mr. Kim opts to call his name out.

He halts at his step for a second, but doesn’t bother to look back.

“Come back to them. Christmas is after all, about family,”

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#4

A body floats on a pool of red, crimson blood. Long, sharp razor with blood stains, a bottle of liquor lies helplessly on the ground.

Silence, silence, the sinister hollow of silence, deafens everything. She follows her heart, and takes her careful baby steps towards the stairs. One step at a time, she tells herself. Too young to understand, she doesn’t know what more to expect, reality has been cruel to her lately. Then, she hears the sound of the cold, icy water, as the tap runs, hitting every ounce of the tiled bathroom floor.

“Mother!” She shouts, hands gripping hard on the doorknob, trying to open the door with the very last of the courage of her aching heart. Her heart beats faster, and faster. No, mother, no. She takes a few steps back, and smashes her body onto it.

Nothing. Nothing happened.

Her knees begin to weaken, as she shouts one last time, “Mother!”

And then, she wakes up, for the two trillion times.

Panting hard, her shirt is soaked with sweat. She doesn’t realize when has she fell asleep on the sofa, but when she looks around, she’s not alone. She sees him. She sees Howon.

The stranger is there. He lies on the floor, head resting on his arms, as tiny snores peacefully escape from his mouth.

Calm, she becomes calm again. At least, she's not alone.

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(What’s on your mind?)

Nightmares exist to remind us of our past.

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